


A Game of Hearts and Steel

by suchadearie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, alternative universe, fake courtship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchadearie/pseuds/suchadearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her father, Lord Avon, gambles away Lady Belle's virginity, she's not amused. and Lord Gold, winner of this rather indignant prize, finds himself thrown out at a rapier's point. But when it turns out that the shipping company he's set his eyes on only comes with Lady Belle's hand in marriage, he decides to overcome his hurt pride to obtain said company. But his attempts of courting Lady Belle are not as successful as he'd like them to be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gold had never seen anything quite as white as Lord Avon’s face when he realized that he had lost this last round of cards. Usually, that was a look Gold enjoyed, but not this time. This time, he was mostly angry. When he suggested to raise the stakes to gamble for a night with Lord Avon’s daughter – a daughter he had never seen, didn’t have any intentions to ever see and certainly didn’t intend to marry after defiling her (and, for what it was worth now, hadn’t had any intention of defiling to begin with) – he expected the man to come to his senses and quit the game. After all, he’d already lost most of his possessions that night. All that was left were the clothes he had on him, and his daughter (and the dress she presumably wore that very moment). Everything else now belonged to Gold.

“One last round. You have to give me a chance to win everything back”, Lord Avon pleaded, his voice shaking, and Gold had to force his face into remaining impassive and not to show his disgust.

“I already did that last round, and you no longer have anything I want.”

“You’re a monster.”

Gold examined the perfectly polished, golden handle of his cane and raised a brow, wondering if it was even worth his time and breath to respond to the insults of a beaten man. At last, he folded his hands above the handle of his cane, leant forward, until the man opposite him shrank, shivered, and smiled a cold and dangerous smile. “I’m not the one who gambled away his daughter’s virginity.”

“You cheated!” Now that talcum-white face turned red, a thick vein on Avon’s nose started throbbing, and flecks of spittle flew from his wet lips. Gold swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“Say that again.”

The silence hanging over their heads was thick enough to cut. Despite the setting being rather private in Lord Avon’s – now former – townhouse and most guests having already left, leaving only Gold and his silent companion and two or three other Gentlemen behind, the news of this event would travel fast, and in the morning, all of London’s upper class would know about Avon’s fall into disgrace. And that was exactly the reason why Gold couldn’t let an accusation like that stand, even when it was made by someone being rather beside himself, drunk and overwhelmed. When Avon didn’t answer, turning darker in shade, like someone choking on a toad, Gold leaned even closer.

“Make no mistake, Avon. You gambled away all that was left of your fortune tonight, and it’s your own fault, not mine. Accusing me of cheating will change nothing about your situation, and only make it harder. But if you insist on calling me a cheater, I will insist on collecting your debt right here and right now, and I will make you watch when I take your daughter right here on this table, and make her beg for it in the process. So choose your words with care.” He dropped his voice to a hiss, hoarse and dripping with menace. Gold had no patience for men that stumbled blindly into ruin, and tried to fault others for their own stupidity. His words were cruel, but chosen deliberately. Carefully cutting straight to the mark, where it hurt the most, with the precision of a clock maker. Avon blanched again.

“You beast, you can’t…”

Gold waved a hand. “Spare me. I can and I will. You brought this on yourself. Now, get your daughter down here.”

“There’s no need. And I won’t stand such vulgarity in this house.”

Gold straightened, in a slow, measured movement, to face the girl that had appeared out of nowhere, stepped beside her father and placed a tiny hand on the man’s bulky shoulder. She was hardly more than a child, and Gold gritted his teeth at the thought of collecting the debt he never wanted in the first place. Why couldn’t Avon just be reasonable and stop gambling after he lost the house and any moveable goods? But Gold never let anyone get away with a debt, and he wouldn’t start with that nonsense now. So, to mask his discomfort, he let his eyes wander over her form, lingering ever so slightly longer on the swell of her breasts in her plain dress, rather modest and not made to receive visitors. “Believe me, dearie, I’m doing you a favour”, he drawled, after returning his gaze to her face, meeting eyes blazing with rage, and allowing himself another thin smile. “After I’ve had my way with you, your father will be unable to sell you to the next best idiot in order to pay his debts. No one will want you anymore.”

Her hand fell from her father’s shoulder, and Avon squirmed on his seat, unable to look at his daughter. But then she raised her chin, queen-like, gathering all that was left of her dignity, and lifted her other hand. And without any warning, Gold found himself with a rapier point at his throat, pressing just hard enough against his pulse to scratch the skin, following him when he backed away, pressed himself into his chair, making it impossible to swallow the saliva flooding his mouth and the urge to clear his throat.

“It’s not up to my father to gamble anything of mine away, and certainly not any parts of my body. No one decides my fate but me, and I bid you to take whatever my father lost in bonds and leave.”

“Technically, dearie, that would mean you had to leave, since this house now is part of my already rather large estate. It would also mean that your virginity belongs to me.” The pressure of her rapier increased, cutting his skin, making it rather hard to breathe. A tightness crawled up his spine, roiling heat crept into his lower abdomen, and he showed his teeth in a wolfish smile. Leaning into the blade. There was a flicker of unease in her eyes, a quavering of her hand. But she inhaled, and steadied her grip.

“As I said. My body. Unless you take my hand in marriage, you have no claim whatsoever over me.”

“Too bad. I don’t have the slightest intention of marrying you.”

“Belle…” Lord Avon whispered, a quailing plea to his daughter to be reasonable and take away that blade, and Gold didn’t hide his disdain this time. He liked her better with the fire of rage and broken trust in her eyes, spitting mad and on the verge of making that fatal mistake, than meek and obedient towards that poor excuse of a father. It was a look he recognised. A shadow moved somewhere to his right, but Gold lifted his hand, and his silent companion stilled.

“Very well. Keep your legs closed. But since your father gambled with something he had no right to gamble with, I will have to be compensated.” He paused, and brought his hand up, pinching the blade between his fingertips and moving it away from his throat. The girl didn’t resist, but as soon as he let go of her weapon, she took a step back and pointed it to his heart, taking another step back when he rose and closed the distance, until the sharp tip was pressed against his chest. “I’ll give you a week to pay your debts. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Not really.” She didn’t budge another inch, and Gold felt the blade tremble with her desire to drive it right through him. For a moment he willed her to give in to it, to impale him with cold steel and end his life, but she didn’t, and so he stepped back, gracing her with another smile, and nodded towards her father.

“Too bad.” 

When he left, leaving Mr. Dove to take care of the paperwork, to make sure everything was tied up properly, he wondered about that slight sting in the pit of his stomach, that hollowness of regret, because for the first time, it wasn’t over the fact that he had to be merciless to make an example. No, for the first time he wished to make that example, to take what he had been promised, and what he hadn’t even wanted. And all because of a pair of pretty, blue eyes and the sharp blade of a rapier. How strange.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Dove hardly ever spoke. He knew that his voice was detrimental to his imposing figure, if not to say preposterous. And mostly, he got by. He just needed to stare at eventual debtors, needed to draw his brows together and make a deep growl at the back of his throat to bring them in line and get them to sign their bonds without any hassle. He was good at that, and Gold relied on him in that. He never encountered any difficulties. He never needed to raise his voice. Never. And even though the young Lady forced his employer to leave with a rapier to the throat, she was just a girl, and her father was just a drunkard, and the social pressure of several gentlemen witnessing this scene should be enough to force them in line. So, Mr. Dove didn’t expect any difficulties when he placed his stack of bonds in front of Lord Avon. What he didn’t expect was for the girl to grab the stack of bonds and start flipping through it, crumpling up several and tossing them over her shoulder. For the first time in his life, Mr. Dove had to remind himself to close his mouth. When she was done, she lifted that sharp blade of hers again and pointed it not at Mr. Dove (that, he would have expected), no, she pointed it at her own father.

“You lost my virginity? Again?”

“He already had the horses…”

“How often do we have to have this discussion? You cannot gamble away my virginity. And you cannot gamble away the house” –at that, she poked her rapier point at one of the crumpled pieces of paper on the floor – “or Avon Manor” – another poke – “or the holdings in our shipping company.” Another poke, and Mr. Dove wondered what was even left of Gold’s winnings, after just taking away the biggest posts. “Those are all mine, for this very reason, so please stop gambling with them. It gets tedious to repeat time after time why your creditors don’t get what they expected to get when they won against you.”

“Sweetie Pie…” Avon had a definite quiver in his voice, and his daughter made a face as if she was forced to wade through mud.

“No, Father. No more sweetie pie for you.” She turned around and shoved the remaining bonds into Mr. Dove’s hands, and he had to grapple to keep the papers from fluttering to the floor. “Your employer can collect his new carriage and his horses tomorrow during the morning. I will let our bank know to hand over fifty pounds. I’m afraid that’s all he won tonight.”

Mr. Dove knew that Gold wouldn’t like this. Not at all. But as he watched the tiny girl throw out the other gentlemen with one glaring look, he thought that it maybe wasn’t even that bad for Gold to have to deal with her. It would teach him a thing or two not to get what he wanted. But then, on the other hand, it was highly unlikely that the pretty little thing would stand her ground against Gold. Gold always got what he wanted, in the end.

And judging by the way he took his cane down on his tea set when Dove delivered his meagre bundle of bonds, Gold was dead set on getting what he wanted. Maybe the girl should pack up her things and try to get out of town as fast as humanly possible, and even then, she would probably get swallowed and devoured by Gold, who was more out of humor than Dove had ever seen him.

“Fifty Pounds? Fifty Pounds? Who does she think she’s dealing with, her fairy godmother? Fifty Pounds? I wagered one year’s profit against fifty Pounds? Do they think me an imbecile that I would let that stand?”

Dove watched his employer rage and shatter things and wondered if part of his anger was due to the fact that a girl had thrown him out at rapier point. Though, considering that Gold hardly reacted to far greater insults commited by those looking down at him for having bought his title, Dove couldn’t imagine the girl’s slight to sting so deep.

“I will take those horses and shoot them between the eyes right in front of her, that will teach her a lesson! Fifty Pounds!” He took his cane down on a vase, and Dove only just quenched the pained sound that wanted to escape his throat. China always lived dangerous around Gold, and Dove was more upset by the death of another vase than by Gold’s idle threat to kill the horses he won from Lord Avon.

“We both know that you will do no such thing”, he said, bending down to pick up shards of china and placing them on a tray to take them with him when Gold would be done. The sound of his voice was enough to startle Gold out of his rage fit, and his employer swept his eyes over the waste of shards all over his study with surprise in his eyes. He was breathing heavily, and turned his cane in his fist as if he wondered if it really was the reason for all the destruction around him.

“Well, but she doesn’t know that. I could tell her I sold the horses to a butcher to get at least some money out of this debacle.”

“And she would probably answer you, rightfully so, that those horses are worth much more alive than dead.”

“Well, then I would answer her that I don’t care and this is to teach her a lesson, so she thinks twice before threatening someone with a saber next time.” Gold pointed the tip of his cane at Dove like the girl had pointed her blade at him.

“It was a rapier.”

“Do I look like I care with what she wanted to kill me?”

Dove sighed and picked up another shard, in his mind already searching for the perfect place for it on the garden wall, where he added all the shards of china Gold produced to an ever growing mosaic, and thought that the bottom of that blue teacup would make the perfect center of another flower. “I’ll send Dottie to procure a new tea set”, he said, after picking up the last shards, and Gold hummed and flourished his hand mindlessly.

“I’m well in the mood to spent those fifty Pounds on china and smash it in front of her to show her how little her petty games affect me.”

“And I’m sure that would bear exactly the desired effect”, Dove murmured, and concentrated on sweeping up the last of the debris when Gold frowned at him.

“So she claimed that all the valuable assets of Avon’s estate are hers? That’s… unusual.”

“Apparently her father has a habit of gambling, and that’s the reason she secured their wealth.”

“I wonder how she did that. It takes a lot for a woman to achieve that, with her father still alive.”

Dove could see how Gold’s mind started working as his employer sank down in his chair behind his desk and examined the handle of his cane, as if the ridges of the metal provided him answers. In times like these, it was best to remain silent and still, because every motion could disrupt the string of thoughts Gold was spinning, and that was a rather imprudent thing to do. After a while, Gold’s dark eyes focused on Dove, narrowed to slits, and something cold trickled down his spine. In that moment, he was glad that he wasn’t a tiny girl with dark curls and eyes as blue as the sky.

“How do I get my hands on that estate, Dove?”

“Do you even need that estate, my lord?”

“I couldn’t care less. All I want is that shipping company. Or rather, its ruin.”

“In that case, I suppose the only way to get what you want is the same as with the girl’s virginity…”

Gold narrowed his eyes even more, and Dove was almost grateful that there was no porcelain left within his employer’s reach. And the cold that still prickled at the nape of his neck turned into a clump that slowly sank to the bottom of his stomach when Gold leant back and his teeth glinted in a smirk, as ferocious as the snarl of a wolf.

“By marriage, then…”


	3. Chapter 3

“How late is it, Mary?”

“It’s almost eleven, my Lady.”

Belle set her teacup down, with the same measure and composure she would use to slice a plum tart, arrange a bouquet of roses, add a column of numbers or stab that rotten Lord Gold right through the heart if he decided to let her wait another hour. She didn’t show any of those thoughts – Mary’s nature was, for a maid, rather delicate, and voicing thoughts of murder in front of her might upset the poor child, so Belle kept it all to herself. However, she did not intend to spare Gold her wrath, should he deign to show up. Of course, he could consider it below himself to fetch his new carriage in person, but then, her instructions had been clear. She clicked her nails against the saucer and tapped her foot beneath her skirts, things no lady should do, because a lady never showed impatience. But a lady didn’t throw peers out of her house at the point of a rapier, either, so there was that.

“How late is it, Mary?”, she asked, standing up with too much momentum and stepping to the window of her salon to peek outside.

“Still almost eleven, my Lady.” There wasn’t even a trace of impatience in Mary’s voice, and Belle wondered how she did that.

“What a waste of a morning”, she murmured, as she let the curtains fall back in place. “Bring me my cloak. I’ve waited long enough. Lord Gold has probably already too many riches to care about our last and only carriage, so he won’t have reason to object if I use it as long as it’s still my father’s.”

Mary hurried out to do Belle’s bidding, and it was just when Belle slipped her gloves over and buttoned up her pelerine that Mr. Miner announced Lord Gold. For a moment, Belle contemplated to go back into the salon to receive him, to act like the lady she was supposed to be, but she dismissed that idea. She wouldn’t slip out of pelerine and gloves again just to give herself an air of respectability, not after waving a rapier around the night before. So she ordered Miner to get horses and carriage ready to be handed over and set off for her crusade against this new beast at her heels.

“Miss, your bonnet!”, Mary shrieked, following her with a bonnet of yellow silk, decorated with huge silken flowers and broad ribbons, and a black umbrella, while Belle stalked down the stairs, into the entrance hall, where Lord Gold just proceeded to take off his gloves. When he heard Belle’s steps, he stopped, and watched as she swooshed into the hall.

“Lady Belle”, he started, with a slight nod, and he sounded not in the slightest like someone who had taken a severe insult from her hand only the night before.

“Lord Gold. I was beginning to think you had forgotten about your new carriage.”

“Hardly. I only hoped to grant you a good night’s rest before intruding once more on your peace.”

“If I had known that you wouldn’t turn up before noon, I’d taken advantage of my carriage once more, instead of wasting all morning waiting for you.” Belle took the bonnet from Mary, before the girl tried shoving it over her head mid-sentence, and pretended that all her attention was absorbed in tying the ridiculously broad ribbons into a bow beneath her chin.

“I was under the impression that the beau monde prefers to spend their mornings catching up on sleep”, Gold stated, a dry smile crooking his lips, and Belle stopped fiddling with ribbons and frowned.

“Of course, obviously someone with a title so new that it’s still wet would be riddled with prejudices about his peers.”

“And obviously even old names aren’t a guarantee for good manners anymore. Some people earned their title, Lady Belle, unlike others, who thrive on their forebears’ wealth and name without ever lifting a finger, for it is frowned upon.”

“I am amazed how well informed you deem yourself to be about the ways I spent my days.” Belle grabbed her umbrella, very nearly ripping it out of Mary’s grip, and Gold took a step back, as if he feared she would hit him. That would be something, to club him over his head, Belle thought, but it probably wouldn’t help her to get rid of him. So, she just clamped the umbrella under her arm and pressed her lips into a smile. “Shall we? Since I’ll have to run the rest of my errands on foot, I’d like to get this over with.” Belle stalked out of the door without waiting for an answer, and she was glad to find that the carriage was already waiting outside, ready to change hands. Gold followed her a little more slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, strong indicator that he didn’t just sport it as a fancy accessory.

“There. All yours.” Belle suppressed a sigh, and pushed back the wistfulness that came with a hot sting behind her eyelids. She was angry, just angry. Having to give up her carriage – the very last symbol of class anyone would give up – was humiliating enough to justify such anger.

“Very much obliged”, Gold murmured, and a curt nod was all he demeaned himself to give her. He gestured for his silent companion, who’d been waiting outside, to mount the coachman’s seat, and Belle turned away. No use in lingering and watching him take off with her beautiful carriage. She had places to go. She would not show what that loss did to her. It was just a carriage, after all. Collateral. It could be much worse, had she not taken steps to secure their wealth, after the last time her father had proven himself to be an utter idiot. Now, all it took was a carriage, two horses and fifty pounds to remove Lord Gold from her life. She could buy a new carriage. After a last nod, she started down the street, Mary in tow, silent now that her mistress wore her bonnet and proprieties had been observed. But she barely made it past the first corner when her former carriage passed her, and the horses were brought to a halt beside her. Gold pushed the carriage door open with his cane and leaned forward. “May I offer my services to take you to your destination, Lady Belle?”

Oh, he enjoyed this humiliation, there was no doubt, and Belle couldn’t even reproach him for it, after what she’d done to him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but no. I’m capable of walking, thank you very much.”

“You mean other than I?” He raised his eyebrows, crinkling his forehead like a dog, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. At least Belle hoped it was amusement.

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t want to add insult to injury. But please, let me help you. You’ll ruin your shoes and that pretty dress if you walk through London. Where are you heading anyways?” 

Belle hesitated. There was a strange urge nudging her to tell the truth, maybe to show him that not all members of the ton were as he believed, but what good would that do her? Then again, a ride in her former carriage wouldn’t be too bad of a thing… “To the docks.”

“The docks? And what business could you possibly have at the docks?”

“I believe whatever business it is, it is none of yours.” Belle decided against taking him up on his offer and started walking again, staring determinedly ahead and ignoring Gold, who knocked his cane against the roof of the carriage (as well as ignoring Mary, who squeaked in distress like a mouse, but didn’t dare to say a thing). With rattling and clopping, the carriage started moving again, slowly, always remaining at her side. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she hastened her steps. But of course, she couldn’t outrun a carriage, and after the third corner, breathing became hard, impossible even, her sides stitched, and she was violently cursing her corset – under her breath, of course, not to add to Gold’s amusement or Mary’s distress. Once she would reach the less friendly districts of London which she had to cross on her way to the docks, she could lose him, supposing she was willing to take a route through the dark and narrow alleyways between buildings. She hoped she would lose him sooner than that and spare herself the dangers of dark alleys. Her corset decided otherwise, though, robbing her the ability to breathe and forcing her to halt and double over, entirely undignified, grabbing a fence of wrought iron for support while she gasped for air and willed her legs not to give out under her. Apparently, neither the cobblestone streets not the heavy clothing of a lady was made to outrun a carriage. Mary clapped her between the shoulder blades, twitching nervously as said carriage halted. There was the telltale sound of Lord Gold’s cane hitting the ground when he climbed out to come to their side, and even though he made no sound, Belle could practically hear him brim with glee. He did, however, not offer his help.

“Lost something, dear?”, he asked, and no matter how much her world was spinning right now or how much her legs trembled, Belle had still enough strength left to use her umbrella as a weapon, poking Lord Gold between the ribs with its tip as she straightened to glare at him.

“For you, it’s my Lady, not dear, and all I lost is my breath.”

“Well, a lady as delicate as you shouldn’t run along the street, I believe, especially not if she intends to go to a place such as the docks.” He seemed unperturbed by her umbrella, and Belle poked him again.

“I wouldn’t have to run, now would I, if I still had my carriage.”

“I offered you a ride in my carriage, my Lady, and the offer still stands.”

Mary tugged at Belle’s sleeve, and Belle was glad to turn her attention to her maid. She couldn’t let him see that she was out of excuses, and also irritated that her umbrella didn’t bother him at all. “Please, my Lady, I want to take the carriage. I don’t want to walk… Please, I’m scared!”

“Hush, Mary, don’t be silly.” Belle straightened again, trying to expand her ribcage enough to take deep, leveled breaths, but it was too soon, and she gasped again like a fish out of water. “Bloody corset”, she muttered, and this time, Gold did make a sound, something between a rumble and a hum, a deep sound like the purr of a cat and entirely too pleasant for her peace of mind.

“And I thought we would deepen our acquaintance before we start discussing your stays”, he said, and for a moment, Belle, never-short-of-a-reply Belle, stared at him with her mouth hanging open and completely at a loss how to handle this rudeness. She snapped her mouth shut with a clatter of teeth and planted her umbrella on his bad foot.

“This is hardly a surprise coming from you, Gold, as you started this acquaintance by trying to obtain my virginity by unethical means, but make no mistake: I won’t let you carry on this tone with me. I might not have a rapier with me, but I don’t need it to part you from any prized appendages of your anatomy.”

“It seems your tongue is sharp enough to accomplish that, my Lady. I didn’t mean offense.” He smiled, a rueful smile that did nothing to appease her. Smoothing out her skirts, Belle was ready to set out again, but Mary once more tugged at her sleeve.

“Please, my Lady”, she whispered, “They say the street’s full of creeps these days.”

Gold nodded, with his eyebrows raised and a grin tucked to the corner of his mouth, while he gently tried pulling his foot out from under her umbrella. “Your maid’s right, my Lady.”

“Well, I’m not sure there are less creeps inside carriages than outside them.”

“And if this creep promises not to speak of your stays again, as long as you promise not to impale me on your umbrella again? And I won’t question your business either.” He gestured towards his carriage, and Mary nodded vigorously.

“And you think you’re capable of that?” Belle finally felt gracious enough to take her umbrella off his foot, and she relished the grimace flitting over his face.

“No, but it never hurts to try.”

“Fine.” Belle gnarled the word out, and lifted her chin to appear not the least bit defeated, despite a tension in her stomach, pressing against the tight lacing of her corset, that wanted her to believe that she was exactly that: defeated. At least she could pretend to do it all out of worry for her maid. She extended her hand so Gold could help her to climb inside, but she had to clear her throat before he sprang into motion and remembered his manners. This man was incredibly rude, and not a bit of it could be excused by his lack of pedigree. Belle grabbed his hand a little harder than she would have with any other gentleman, and she didn’t deign to look at him when he settled opposite her and Mary, not for the briefest glance. It didn’t come as a surprise when he just ignored her cold shoulder, and, stretching out his legs and taking up too much of the confined space of the carriage, tilted his head and started talking to her.

“So, what takes you to the docks?”

Belle groaned – or she would have, if it was a thing a lady did – and used her umbrella to shove his legs out of the way and make room for her own. “Well, that lasted for all of three seconds. You should have traded for some manners while you were still in trade, my Lord.”

“Are we back to that topic again? It is my strongest belief to treat people the way they treat their others, so if you think me rude, it might very well be that you are just as rude to me.” There was no malice in his tone, not even smugness, just that matter-of-factness that left her unhinged and somehow defenseless. She was rude, but how much kindness did one deserve who gambled for your virginity and took the last symbol of dignity from you, only to mock you by offering it to your service? Not a lot, she decided.

“It seems that you will never get over the fact that you were thrown out of a house by a girl, with a blade to your throat and your blood cold with fear.”

“You give yourself too much credit, dear. I was much less afraid than fascinated. Tell me, did you ever learn to wield a sword or was that just a spur-of-the-moment decision? I notice that you fancy pointy weapons.” He leant a little forward, but even a little was too much inside a carriage, and Belle considered to demonstrate how much she fancied pointy weapons by using the sharp end of her umbrella to shove him back to his place. Instead she mimicked him, leaning forward herself, and stretching her lips into a thin smile.

“I can show you how well I wield a sword if you like? You seem in dire need of a shave.”

Mary gasped, but Gold leant back in his seat, a grin spreading across his face. “Even if you wouldn’t know how to wield a sword, that tongue of yours makes a pretty weapon, too. And be careful – I could take you up on that offer.”

“You would let me near your throat again? Your head isn’t that awful to look at, I would try to keep it if I were you, but maybe you’re either a fool or reckless. Which makes you a fool again.”

Gold ignored her slight, and he didn’t cease to smile for a second. “You don’t seem to have a lot of confidence in your sword-wielding abilities. A spur-of-the-moment decision, then. Which one of us is the fool now?”

“I learned that most men care much more for their skin to be unblemished than they care for the word of a woman. I’m rather a fool than a pawn in some game.”

There was a twitch beneath his eye. Maybe the realization that Belle wouldn’t forget that, nor would she forgive. “If it is of any consolation to you, I never wanted you in the first place. My only intention was to deter your father from losing his last penny.”

“How noble. But hardly a consolation.” Belle turned away, staring out of the window, determined not to engage in further conversation. Gold used the moment she looked away to stretch his legs out once more, as if to test if she would bear it or resume their bickering. Belle let it slide, and despite herself managed to remain civil for the rest of the ride. And when they reached her destination, and Gold climbed out and offered his hand without being prompted to do so, Belle thanked him with honest civility. It shattered, though, when he didn’t instantly let go of her hand.

“I’m still curious, my Lady, what brings you here. And I’d love to offer my services, should you need them, in whatever business it is.”

“There’s no need, my Lord.” Belle yanked her hand back, and she was almost ashamed of the relief that flooded her when he stepped back, and bowed.

“As you wish. Despite what you may think, I can take a ‘no’ for an answer. A good day to you, my Lady. Until we meet again.” He nodded one last time before he climbed back into the carriage and signaled for it to resume its way. And while Belle watched him drive off, still mourning the loss of her carriage, she couldn’t help but wonder when that might be. She shrugged that notion off and turned towards the docks. She had a ship to inspect.


	4. Chapter 4

For one moment, the chatter ceased, falling to an awkward silence as Gold entered the ball room, only to pick up again, maybe a tad louder or less natural. He was as used to it as he was to backs turning on him or stilted conversations with peers who didn’t manage to get away fast enough. The peerage disdained him for his – still wet, as Lady Belle put it – title. Not that it bothered him. By now, half of the gentlemen currently crowding Lady Leopold’s ball room owed him (considerably, one might add), making it rather hard for them to ignore him, even though their wives might crinkle their pretty noses over his presence.

“How did he even get an invitation?”, someone to his right whispered, and when he turned his head, it was no surprise to find rude Lady Belle glaring at him over her fan. Suppressing the smirk wanting to quirk his lips, he steered straight towards her and her companion – Lady Abigail, if he remembered correctly, tall, blond, incredibly rich and formidably bored most of the time – dipping his chin to greet Lady Belle and ignoring the way she paled and tried turning away on her seat, so she could pretend not to see him, and not to have watched him, of all things. He put an end to that strategy as he halted in front of her, giving her no choice but to acknowledge him.

“I got my invitation the same way everyone did, I suppose. In the morning post.”

Lady Abigail turned ashen and started moving her fan vigorously, while Lady Belle folded hers to properly glare at him. “Are you aware how incredibly rude it is to approach a Lady without her acknowledging you first and giving you leave to do so, and without being introduced? Every gentleman knows that.”

“But you did look at me… You have to admit that your death glare was pretty acknowledging.”

He supposed it was sheer luck that they were surrounded by the beau monde, or else she might have hit him with her fan. “A look isn’t an invitation, Lord Gold. The lady has to nod or give another definite sign, or else she wouldn’t be able to look anywhere without attracting unwelcome advances.”

“Well, in that case… Am I allowed to ask you for a dance later?” His question caused her to choke, and almost sputter, and he raised a brow and looked at her chest, allowing just enough revulsion to flit over his face that one might think she had a stain there. She followed his gaze, paling, and looking up again just as quickly when she realized there was nothing. Now he allowed that tickling smirk to break free. “I’m looking forward to our dance, dearest.”

“What? But…”

“Well, that was a pretty definite nod, Lady Belle.”

“And I thought you’re a man who can take a no for an answer.”

“I am. Let’s discuss the subtleties distinguishing a ‘yes’ from a ‘no’ during our dance, shall we? Then I’ll teach you that a nod usually means yes.” When he left her to steam with her rage, he longed to break out into a whistle, even though he supposed that he would pay later on - or rather, his toes would. Still, he intended to get both of the socially acceptable dances with Lady Belle, and if his leg would kill him later, it was still worth it.

When he got around to claim his first dance, though, he realized that he would need some luck to get even one dance with her, for Lady Belle had vanished. A moment before, he had seen her on the dance floor, swirling around with some young gentleman (he made a mental not of reminding Lord Thomas Herman, Viscount Ash, to mind his own business if he didn’t want to wake up in debtors’ prison), and the next moment, when it was his turn to swirl her at his arm, she was nowhere to be seen. A quick search of the ball room showed no success, so Gold followed some corridors, glancing into salons and reading rooms, the grip on his cane growing tighter with each room that turned up empty. His dance was almost over when he finally found her, safely tucked away in a small library above the ballroom. He wouldn’t even have seen her, had her gown not spilled over the armrest of a wing chair that had its back turned to the door. He stepped into the room without making a sound, and after he closed the door, the bundle of fabric on the chair moved and revealed Lady Belle, peeking around the back of it and paling when she detected him.

“You missed our dance”, he observed, waiting for the familiar rage to flash in her eyes.

“I never agreed to dance with you in the first place. This is not the taming of the shrew, Lord Gold.” She slipped from the chair and crossed the room, reducing the distance between the two of them with each step.

“I would never have insinuated such a thing, mainly for one simple reason.”

“And what would that be?” Lady Belle halted, resting her hands on her hips in a stance that reminded him a bit of a sailor.

“I’m not a shrew.”

She blinked, and blinked again, and made a sound like a sneezing piglet, taking him completely by surprise. He needed a moment to sort it out, but then he realized that she was giggling. When he came to that conclusion, she’d already stopped again, clapping her hand to her mouth.

“You may not be a shrew, Lord Gold, but you’re very intent on getting your toes stubbed. Don’t you think that taking my carriage was enough of a humiliation to make us even? Do you really want to add to it by dragging an unwilling partner to the dance floor?”

“I have to admit that I find myself increasingly intrigued by your temper and your sharp tongue, my Lady. Each time you cut me with it, I find myself coming back for more.”

Lady Belle narrowed her eyes, and her skin turned darker, starting on her chest, on that tantalizing patch of skin between her breasts that her gown left uncovered, and he allowed himself to follow that flush as it crept up her throat, all the way up to her cheeks. In fact, he was so mesmerized by it that he was in a bit of a daze, and it came as a complete surprise when she took the last steps that separated them to close the distance. She moved so fast that he almost didn’t notice how she picked something up from a small table, but he did notice when he found himself pressed with his back against the door and something sharp pressed to his throat just above his cravat.

“Make no mistake, Lord Gold. If you insist on humiliating me, I will cut you, and next time it will be more than a letter opener pressed to your skin, do you understand?” Her voice was hoarse, sending a shiver down his spine, one that had its origin neither in fear nor in fury. She swam out of focus for a moment as he took a deep breath, sucking in her scent and the warmth of her body so close to his, and he had to lick his lips that were as dry as rice paper.

“You sound more like a Whitechapel whore than a Lady, my dear. By the way, aren’t you missing a chaperone? Did you ditch her for a particular reason?” He hissed when she pressed the letter opener harder to his throat. There was a growing sting where she pressed the blade to his skin, the slight pulse of a cut, and he bent his head, pressing against the blade in a silent challenge, just like the first time she held a blade to his throat. Her eyes widened, and just like the first time, he saw a flicker of unease blooming there. At last, she pulled the blade back, and stepped away. Gold felt for the cut, and his glove came away stained with blood. Maybe she wasn’t really as reckless as she pretended to be, because her bottom lip trembled at that sight, and she tried suppressing it by biting on it. There was that nauseating look in her eyes, one he recognized, and loathed: The look of fear, the look of anticipating a blow. The look of someone cornered and caught in their worst nightmare. A look so familiar that it felt like a punch to the gut. One false move now, and he would find himself with that letter opener buried to the hilt in his chest. “I apologize. That was an unforgivable thing to say”, he whispered.

“It was.” All the color had drained from her face, and all that remained were a few angry red blotches on her chest.

“I won’t ask for you to dance with me again… I never intended this as a way to humiliate you, and I apologize if you saw it as such.” He reached for the doorknob in his back. Retreating like someone facing a pack of hungry wolves in a snowy winter’s night, he tried slipping out of the room, preferably without his head getting bitten off. Lady Belle watched him, with such mistrust in her eyes, and her fist clenched tightly around the letter opener, that he wished he had never sought her out when she wasn’t available for their dance. Somehow, it made a lot more sense than before that she was holding on so tightly to whatever sharp object she got her hands on. Just like he himself never let go of his cane and the blade hidden in its shaft. Only when he pulled the door shut with a soft click behind him, he dared to breathe again, and for the first time he wondered if his plan on marrying her would ever come to pass. Maybe there was a reason she wasn’t married yet, despite being reasonably pleasant to look at, and, more importantly, only child of a Viscount without any living male relatives that could inherit his small estate. If there was, he would find out.

He pulled off his stained gloves, and he was almost at the stairs leading down into the foyer again when he heard the patter of feet behind him.

“Lord Gold.”

He paused, one hand on the railing, waiting without turning back. Lady Belle caught up with him, and placed a hand on his sleeve.

“Ask me again.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes, and creased his forehead. “What?”

“Ask me properly, and don’t try tricking me into answering. Then I will give you an honest answer.”

“And why did you change your mind all of a sudden?”

“Who said I did?” Lady Belle lifted her hand off his arm, and he instantly mourned the loss of contact. Then he shook himself and discarded that ridiculous notion.

“It’s not that hard to deduce, my dear. You didn’t want to dance with me before and hid away in order of avoiding the obligation to do so. Now, after you nearly killed me with a letter opener, you want me to ask you again?”

“Well… yes.”

“Are you going to step on my toes?”

“Most certainly.”

“Well, then, Lady Belle… would you do me the honor of dancing this next dance with me?”

“Yes, Lord Gold. I will.” She smiled, and started rummaging around in her beaded reticule, producing a white kerchief with delicate lace frills.

“What made you change your mind?”, he asked, and almost flinched when she reached for his chin, tilting his head up with a gentle nudge of her fingertips in her silken gloves, and started dabbing her kerchief at the cut on his throat. She didn’t meet his eyes, concentrating on his throat and the wound she had inflicted. It was safe to look at her while she wasn’t looking up, and he wondered how her lashes, long and thick and dark, would feel like when she blinked while her head was resting on his bare chest.

“What made you retreat?”, she asked, instead of answering, and Gold grunted, grateful that his strange string of thoughts was interrupted.

“The threat of getting stabbed with a letter opener was a pretty good incentive. As was the look of panic on your face.”

She stopped dabbing, and the kerchief was stained with blood when she pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You couldn’t help being afraid. I behaved in a despicable way.”

“No. For cutting you. Not for holding a blade to your throat.”

Gold reached for the cut once more, and his fingers came back with a fresh drop of blood on them. “I’ve cut myself worse while shaving.”

“I’m sure of it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was the one to cut you this time.”

“Well, I don’t want your apologies, although I find myself in quite a dilemma, my Lady.” He straightened his collar and rearranged his cravat, hoping it would cover up the worst blood stains on his shirt, and he contemplated why Lady Leopold’s letter opener had to be so damn sharp. Lady Belle watched him, and she almost looked as if she wanted to help him with his collar. But given her strong dislike of him, that had to be a delusion.

“Which is?”

“You see, as I said earlier, I find myself fascinated by your temper and your intrepidity, your dauntless pragmatism in just taking up a blade and fight for yourself. You have to understand that it is this that makes me come back relentlessly, this fascination, and not scorned pride at being rejected, or the desire to turn your rejection into acceptance by using either brute force or power to wear you down, although it may look like just that from your vantage point. That’s my dilemma: I admire you, so I hope to get your light to shine upon me, hope to find you favorably disposed towards me, thus provoking exactly the adverse reaction towards me that turns you into a fighter and me into a witless fool.” He smiled, hoping to show honesty and gentleness with it, not to be intimidating, or worse, not genuine. He would never get her to consider him as a suitor if he didn’t manage to quell her fears. And in his experience, no one was immune to a little praise. Lady Belle just seemed to need praise of her bravery rather than her beauty, and he was ready to admit that she had both in abundance, so his praise wasn’t even a lie.

“It also turns you into a rude oaf”, she stated, but she sounded almost affectionate.

“Can’t turn me into something I’ve been from the beginning.”

She giggled, making that sound like a sneezing piglet again, and his own smile widened. “So, will you accept my peace offering for this day?”, he asked, and took his cane into the other hand, so he could offer her his arm.

“For now. But my further consideration will depend on how well you behave during our dance. No complaints about crushed toes, my Lord.”

“But, Lady Belle, I depend on my toes. Surely, you wouldn’t take a cripple his last leg?”

Her grip on his arm tightened for a moment, and he couldn’t help but feel examined, as if she tested the strength of his arm through his clothes. “Not intentionally, of course. But I fear I am the worst dancer.”

“I thought the art of sword wielding is complimented by the grace and the skills of a fine dancer?”

Now she scowled, and Gold expected her to growl, so dark was the look she sent him. “And now you know how lucky you are for still having that thick skull between your ears.”

They reached the ballroom again, and for a moment, the crowd fell silent once more at the sound of his booming laughter. But when Lady Belle grinned, and curtsied, the chatter picked up again, and no one kept him from leading his prey onto the dance floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle squeezed into one carriage with Abigail and her aunt, Lady Fairweather (a fallacy of a name, if there had ever been one, for even now, with her chin sagged to her chest and softly snoring, Lady Fairweather made a face as sour as curdled milk), who also functioned as their chaperone for the evening. Belle’s maid, Mary, had been too sick to accompany Belle to the ball, so she had to make use of Abigail’s handmaiden to help her with her cloak.

Abigail watched her as if she had something rather peculiar in her face, and after having Lord Gold look at her in much the same way - though, admittedly, with more wonder than the incredulity Abigail displayed - that was more than Belle could take.

"What?", she asked, and Abigail leant towards her as if she was afraid of missing even a syllable of what Belle might answer to the question she was about to pose.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"The dance. I thought you detested him."

"I do. I’m still going to be polite." Belle hoped that was enough of a reason to satisfy Abigail’s curiosity.

"Right." There was a thin smile lingering on Abigail’s lips, but Belle preferred to ignore it. When she didn’t elaborate, Abigail examined her lace gloves and picked some imaginary threads away. "So…. How was it?"

"I did my best to crush his toes. He thanked me. That’s it."

Abigail snickered and abandoned her gloves. “At least he showed some manners, then.”

Belle rolled her eyes. Her dance with Gold had been surprisingly pleasant, and he had taken her repeated assaults on his toes with a good humored smile and only a tiny wince from time to time. But they hadn’t really had a conversation, and Belle had been glad when it was over. Afterwards, she had to retreat for a moment to dab her chest with a cold cloth, for it was sticky with sweat. Then he had brought her something to drink, and watched as she dug her way through the buffet. There had been a strained expression on his face, as if he despised the obligation to stand at her side and watch her eat (as if it was insulting to be forced to watch her eat, as if she had the worst eating manners of all and was dribbling and dropping food all over the place). Maybe he had just been hungry and suffered under the social convention that the Lords weren’t allowed to ravage the buffet, while the Ladies were free to eat as much as they wanted. Belle tried to feel a little sorry for him, but she failed, even though she found that rule rather silly herself.

“Thank you for letting me share your carriage. I haven’t found a new one yet.”

Abigail let that rather plump attempt at changing the topic slide. She wasn’t that interested in Lord Gold, anyway, and Belle was glad that she didn’t have to discuss his sudden interest in her with her friend. That was what she got for threatening him with a rapier, she supposed.

“It’s been a pleasure. But you should get yourself a new carriage. People talk. They say your father lost all his money, and my father already mentioned that he’s contemplating to withdraw his interests in your shipping company.”

“That would be a catastrophe. I’d be finished.” Abigail flicked her eyes at her aunt, and Belle bit her lip. But Lady Fairweather was still snoring. “We would be finished. And it isn’t true, what people say.”

“I know that, but I could hardly tell my father. Your father has to talk to him.”

“I rather not have that happen. I will let him write to your father.”

“You can’t keep him away from the ton for forever, Belle.”

“But I can very well try.” Belle crossed her arms, and Abigail didn’t probe further. She probably knew better. The carriage came to a rattling halt, and Lady Fairweather jerked upright and grunted. She blinked, bleary eyed, and smiled when her eyes found Belle.

“There we are, child. What a splendid night it was, wasn’t it?”

Belle smiled, sharing a secret grin with Abigail, before she climbed out, waving a last goodbye to both ladies. Looking forward to getting out of her clothes (especially that corset) and shoes, she crossed the threshold with only a half glance at Miner. He had to clear his throat to get her attention, and by then, she was already halfway up the stairs.

“Lady Belle, there has been an unfortunate event.”

Belle turned on her heels and frowned. For all his usual swiftness at shouting news from the rooftops, Miner was rather cryptic right now. “What does that mean? Is it Mary? I thought she had only a light fever…” Belle trailed off. Maybe the fever had grown out to something serious, and she hated the idea that she might have been having fun with crushing Lord Gold’s toes while her sweet maid succumbed to a nasty illness.

“No, of course it’s not Mary. The girl is fine, and even if she was not, it isn’t as if there would suddenly be a shortness of maids in London. No, I believe you should take a look at the study…”

There was a tone to his voice that was highly alarming, and Belle didn’t care about propriety as she pulled up her gown and hurried down the stairs again to run to the study. For a moment, she imagined Lord Gold frown upon her unladylike haste, and she stuck her tongue out to that image, albeit just mentally as not to alarm Miner, who followed her in much the same haste, very nearly colliding with her when she skidded to a halt at the door. She could feel him breathe against her neck as she reached for the doorknob, and he was immune to her frown.

“Mr. Miner. Is there a reason you’re standing so close?”

Finally, the butler stepped back, but just enough to show some good will. Belle sighed, and opened the door. And was met with utter chaos. She wasn’t prepared for this, and now she was glad for Miner grabbing her arm and holding her upright. The room was covered in loose sheets of paper, crumpled up or torn apart, drawers pulled out of her large secretary desk and turned over, account books pulled out of the shelves and tossed to the floor.

“What happened here?”, she whispered, and her voice trembled. “Burglars?”

Miner pointed towards the desk, just when another piece of paper was tossed across it. Behind the desk, her father cowered, going through a ledger on the floor and ripping pages out of it, mumbling feverish words.

“Father!” At the sound of her voice, her father jerked up, and stared at her from behind the desk.

“Belle…”

“What on earth are you doing?” She shook off Miner’s hand and took a step into the chaos. Under her shoe, something crunched, and the smell of brandy hit her nose.

“I’m looking for something, can’t you see that?”

“I see. I just don’t know what, or why.”

His eyes flitted down to the ledger on the floor, and she heard the sound of another page being ripped out, along with his mumblings.

“Father, what are you looking for?”

His head jerked up again, and his face turned red. “Colette”, he roared. “I’m looking for the Colette.”

Belle took another step into the room, ignoring the chill creeping up her spine. “Why? What did you do?”

“I’m going to sell her. This madness with fire-breathing machines and iron ships will go nowhere.” His bloodshot eyes moved over her, along the shelves, ravaged and torn apart, back to the desk in front of him. “And when I’ve sold her, this nonsense will stop, and no one will say any longer that we’re bankrupt. Then you’ll find a husband to take you on and then you can finally be happy…”

“Stop it, Father. You’re not going to sell my ship.”

Her father sprang to his feet, put his hands to the desktop and stared at her like a wild boar. Another shiver trickled down her spine, and Belle squared her shoulders. “We’re not bankrupt. And I am happy, Papa. You don’t need to worry. Please, I don’t need a husband. And those steamboats aren’t madness, you know that. Do you remember the Aaron Manby?” She struggled to sound calm, cheerful even, as she closed the distance. Nevertheless, Belle made sure to motion for Miner to stay close by. She had no idea how much her father had already drunk, but there was no doubt that it had been a lot. He even swayed a little as she came closer, and clenched his jaws, his whole body tensing in his attempt to stay upright.

“I remember.”

“So. Others have done it, too. It’s not madness, Papa, it’s the future.”

“You read too many sensation novels. They turned you hysteric…” He swayed again, and Belle gestured for Miner to round the desk and catch her father, should he fall.

“That’s not true. And you won’t find the Colette here.”

Her father narrowed his eyes, and Belle was once more glad that she had deposited the papers for her ships - especially the Colette - at the bank, without access for her father. Ironically, that had required his consent. In his better moments, he still saw the sense in these regulations. But this was not one of his better moments. “Don’t you dare to keep my own from me, daughter!”

Belle rubbed the bridge of her nose and winced. It was too late - long after midnight - to have this discussion, not that her father cared. “Father, I had a really long day and I had to dance quite a lot, so I would prefer to postpone discussing this…”

“I’m head of this family and decide when we discuss what…”

“I’m not going to discuss my ship or my company in the dead of the night, after you just lay waste to my study!” She signed for Miner to bring her father out of the room, and although he grumbled and slurred words that would have insulted her, had he been in his right mind, he didn’t resist the butler dragging him out and to bed. Belle waited until the door clicked shut before she took a deep breath and faced the chaos. She should leave it for the morning. Cleaning up the mess, reorganizing and reordering, all that would be much easier with more than the dim flame of a gaslight. And although her feet were swollen and hurt, and her bones were creaking with every move, Belle was unable to leave the heart of her company crumpled up and scattered all over the floor. She bent down (grunting when the bones of her corset poked her hips at the movement), pulled off her shoes and tossed them over her shoulder, before she sank down to her knees to gather her papers, smoothing them out and sorting them into stacks to file them away again. Once she cut her hand on a shard of glass. Her blood dripped dark onto the papers around her, and she had to bite back the tears. She bandaged her hand with a lacy kerchief and soldiered on. When the first light of a new morning started filling the room and overtaking the golden light of her small lantern, she was still crouching on the floor, sorting through papers and puzzling together what her father had ripped apart. Her head was swirling, and she hardly noticed when the door opened and soft steps came up to her.

“Did you spend all night on the floor, my Lady?”, Mary asked, placing a tray with tea and scones on the desk, before Belle was able to protest. She scrambled to her feet, swaying like she was drunk, and darted to the desk, pulling a stack of papers out from under the tray.

“Careful, I need these”, she snapped, and Mary, probably feeling superior after having had a full night’s sleep, raised her brows. “Don’t look at me like that. Weren’t you having a fever? Why aren’t you in bed, silly child?”

“I’m not a child, my Lady. We’re of the same age. And I’m feeling much better today, thank you.” She tilted her head and looked at Belle as if _she_ was the silly one. Mary poured some tea and extended the cup, and Belle mused that the maid was much less skittish when she was in charge and no bonnets were involved. The tea was still hot, and Belle almost burned her tongue with her first sip. Mary waited until she had halfway emptied her tea before she spoke again.

“The Colette entered harbor this morning.”

Belle slammed her cup down on the tray and nearly burned her hand with the tea sloshing over its brim. “And you’re telling me this now? I need to go see Jones, and…”

“Have you even slept, my Lady? You look awful.”

“I don’t know what my looks have to do with anything, and you should work on your maid…li…ness.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Right. You should go to bed and sleep before heading to the docks again. And this has nothing to do with the way you look.” The maid reached for the stack of papers in Belle’s clutch and pried it gently out of her grip. Belle allowed it, if only because she was too exhausted to find a reasonable argument against her maid.

“But the Colette…”

“Will still be there when you wake up again. My Lady, your wits have to be sharper than a rapier, you know that. This world you’re dabbling in is not one for gentlefolks, much less for ladies meant to be sitting in their tea salons and embroidering kerchiefs for their husbands. You have to be twice as sharp as any man with your mind, and still no one is going to take you serious.” Mary steered her towards the door, and Belle gave up any resistance. Her limbs were rubbery, and maybe the idea to get some sleep wasn’t the worst one…

“But what if my father…”

“Mr. Miner will take care that he doesn’t go out to meddle with things, and Jones knows better than to follow any orders of Lord Avon. You know all that. Go to bed.”

“Alright. But just for two hours…”

Belle could hardly stay upright long enough for Mary to peel her out of her dress and her corset, and she fell into bed still wearing her underskirts over her shift. The maid had been right, there was no way she would have been able to function, had she gone straight to the docks.

And, after all, two hours were hardly enough time for anything bad to happen, right?

 


	6. Chapter 6

Charles Midas, Duke of Pemberton, looked as if he’d rather be still in bed than up and about, but his daughter, Abigail, looked as if she’d slept for a week, not a mere few hours. Gold found that remarkable. He himself had left the ball the night before right after having his last dance with Lady Belle, since he lived on the principle that a healthy amount of sleep was the foundation of all success. And it had its perks to do business in the early mornings, while most members of the ton were still too exhausted to have their wits about them.

"I have no idea why this transaction couldn’t wait, Gold", Midas huffed, after leaving the breakfast table under the scrutiny of his daughter and all but collapsing behind his desk in his study.

"I may remind you that you were the one offering to sell, my Lord. I got word that the Colette made harbor this morning, so I believe it’s in our best interest to conclude this now."

Midas pressed his lips into a thin line and picked up a pen from his desk. “I didn’t know that you are so eager to spend your money on a sinkhole.”

"You invested in said sinkhole, too."

"Believe it or not, but Avon is very cunning when it comes to this business." Midas shifted on his seat and tried emitting confidence. He failed, not that Gold would tell him. And he couldn’t bring his impression of Avon in accordance with the picture of a cunning business man.

"If you rather hold on to your portion of that sinkhole, that’s fine with me", Gold said. "I have other places to be." He made to stand up, but Midas motioned for him to stay put, with a deep frown and an angry huff.

"Oh, rubbish. We both know that a gentleman like me, one of the upper peerage, shouldn’t dirty his hands with ships and trade. It was solely a favor I did for Avon to keep his shipping company afloat. He’s obsessed with steam boats. Sold his soul to have one of the first steam boats to cross the channel."

Gold pretended to listen closely, even though he wasn’t particularly interested in Avon’s steam boat. A fancy obsession, no more, and only peripherally of relevance. “So there is a chance that you can still make up your losses. Why sell?”

"Did you not listen? It’s not about the money. I couldn’t care less. Even if the Colette sank and the company went bankrupt, this wouldn’t be more than an inconvenience for me. But why are you so very intent in obtaining my holdings in that company?"

Gold turned his cane in his grip, examining the golden handle, and contemplated how much of the truth he was ready to part with. In his experience, lies worked best when they held at least a little speck of the truth. “I’m planning to polish my obscenely new title by marrying Avon’s daughter, and I believe he could find it to be a beneficial deal if I’m already invested in his company. Also, he should be glad to get all the help he can get with his financial dalliances.”

Midas leant back in his chair and snorted. “I hope you’re aware of the severe weaknesses of your plan”, he said.

"Which are?"

"Most prominently: Avon is a fool. He will take your money and gamble it away. And I am sure you’ve heard of the scandal surrounding Lady Belle.”

Gold had not, but he didn’t want to appear clueless, so he waved a hand and grunted noncommittally. Midas tilted his head, but he didn’t part with the details of that ominous scandal, another sign that something about this whole business wasn’t quite right. Midas was too intelligent to let someone like Avon trick him into an unfavorable deal. “I haven’t heard the details, but since she’s still circling dance floors, it can’t be that scandalous. And anyway, she’s all the more likely to take my offer that way, isn’t she?”

Midas shook his head as if he doubted that in earnest. “My daughter would love to see her friend married, I’m sure, and since Avon isn’t the youngest anymore, someone should really take care of the poor girl. I think there is no family left, and the title dies with Avon. She’ll inherit the company and some land, but what is a girl to do with all that, right?”

Gold smiled. “Exactly.”

“Alright. Then let’s get down to business.”

When Gold left an hour later, he was now owner of one third of Avon’s shipping company and considerably closer to his goal of taking it apart. It probably wouldn’t break Avon’s neck if he was to withdraw his interests, but it would put him in a perilous state. Gold was glowing with glee when he told Dove to take him to the docks, but he ignored the giant’s silent frown. Lately, Dove had developed a nasty habit of rolling his eyes whenever Gold undertook steps to realize his plans. As if he was a truculent toddler on a mission to break someone else’s toy, not a man with a plan and a motif. As if it hadn’t been Dove who presented him with the body of his dead son.

The Colette wasn’t very large, but nevertheless impressive in her iron beauty. Gold quelled the flicker of admiration. Understanding what had someone so obsessed with something that he risked his last shirt for it wouldn’t move Gold to spare them from ruin.

“Find out if customs already cleared the cargo”, Gold ordered, and Dove disappeared in the bustle of dock workers, returning some time later with a gentleman in tow who looked slightly nauseous to be dragged off by a giant who could easily crush his skull with his fists.

“Mr. Rat here just needs the signature of the cargo’s recipient to clear it”, Dove said, and the man with the mousy face glared up at him.

“I told you, it’s Gratt.”

Dove quirked his lips and shrugged, and Mr. Gratt directed his wrath at Gold. “So, you are the owner?”

“Partner.” Not exactly the truth, but close enough. It seemed sufficient for Gratt, and he produced a stack of papers. Gold was almost done going through the paperwork when a cloud of yellow ruffles and tulle attacked him, coming out of nowhere and snatching the papers out of his hand.

“Mr. Gratt, what are you thinking, giving out crucial business information about my business to random strangers?” Amidst all the ruffles and tulle, Lady Belle’s face was flushed in a shade of red that clashed unpleasantly with the color of mustard surrounding it, and Gold decided to take care of her wardrobe once they were married. Although he supposed that it didn’t really matter if he shipped her off to the country or some remote island, where he didn’t have to see the atrocities she chose to wear. When she turned from the custom officer towards him, growling “And you!” with a voice that was close to cracking, he mused that she had to be color blind. “Who do you think you are, laying hands on my ship like that?”

“He said he’s partner”, Mr. Gratt squeaked, while Dove ignored Gold’s silent plea to step between him and the fury waving her yellow lace umbrella at him. He had to lift his cane to shove the umbrella out of his face, which came dangerously close to his nose at Gratt’s words.

“Partner? That’s an audacious lie, Lord Gold. I did not suspect you of being capable of stooping so low. Not after…”She trailed off, paling, and Gold raised a brow.

“After what? Dancing with you? Please. This is business, and as it happens, I am partner, since just this morning, I took over Lord Midas’ holdings in your father’s shipping company.”

Lady Belle stumbled back, looking almost as if he’d slapped her. The degree of horror on her face made him squirm and avert his eyes, because it surpassed any appropriate reaction to those news by far. He looked at Dove, hoping to find some kind of help there, but Dove knitted his brows together and watched him as if he was indeed the villain of this tale.

“You’re lying”, Lady Belle whispered, and she extended a hand as if she was in need of someone to keep her from crumbling to the ground. Irritatingly, it was Dove who took her arm to offer her that support, and Gold detested the way she clung to the arm of his factotum.

“I am not, not that it is any of your concern, dear. As long as your father cooperates, I am not planning to withdraw my interests.” It was a lie, and a very palpable threat, even for a woman, and at his words, she straightened and let go of Dove’s arm again, lifting her umbrella once more.

“This is exactly what you’ll do. I’m going to pay you out. Now that the Colette is back, I’ll be able to do so.”

“Presuming I want to be paid out. Which I don’t.” He smiled, but it did nothing to soothe her. In fact, she narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaws, and stepped so close that he could almost feel the heat of her ire radiate from her skin.

“No, of course not. You want to keep those interests to have them dangling as a threat above our head, so we have to succumb to whatever strikes your evil fancy.” She stressed every word by poking the handle of her umbrella against his chest, and Gold had to capture her wrist to keep her from impaling him on the blunt end of her weapon.

“My, my. You sound upset.”

Lady Belle stared at him, nostrils flaring like a dragon just before it launched its fiery breath, but instead of killing him with fire, she wrenched her arm free and took a step back. Gold mourned the loss of contact, but only for a heartbeat.

“I am not upset”, she stated. “I am _livid_.”

“I can see that.”

She turned away, fixing her glare on Mr. Gratt, who had been following the exchange with eyes as big as plates. “You. Follow me.” She stalked off, papers clutched to her chest, and Gratt ducked his head and trotted after her. Gold tilted his head, fumbled his pocket watch from his vest and pretended to look at the time, before he slipped it back into his pocket and followed her more slowly, Dove in tow. No one paid him any mind when he entered the large warehouse after Lady Belle. When he entered the office at the back of the hall, however, Lady Belle attempted to stab him with her death glare.

“Out.”

“No. As a part owner of this company, I have to take care that my interests are represented in my best interests.”

She tilted her head, and he couldn’t help but feeling dissected when she swept her eyes over him, head to toes, as if she was assessing how much of a bother he was going to be. When she reached his gleaming shoes, she quirked her lips in a smile that let a shiver crawl up his spine. It was just in that moment that Gold realized what he should have known from the start: He wasn’t dealing with Avon. This shipping company, and every single thing it entailed, from ships to cargo to bank transactions, it all belonged solely to her. And he didn’t need a second look to know that this made things infinitely more complicated. Avon was a fool. Lady Belle was not. And no matter the threat he would throw her way, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. And how big were his chances of marrying her, really, if it wasn’t the father who had the final say in the matter?

“My Lord, I’m sure you had a good look at those shares you took over from Midas before you acquired them, right? I didn’t take you for a fool.”

“I’m not.” Not a fool, perhaps, but blinded by his intent for sure.

“Then I’m sure you realized that those holdings, although granting you part of the profits, do not grant you any say in matters of business?”

“I…” He didn’t know how to respond. No wonder Midas had been so happy to be rid of those holdings. And how had he overlooked that? Probably too fixated on waving the threat of bankruptcy over Avon’s head and winning Lady Belle in a game of business transactions rather than cards. Not that he really wanted her.

“That’s what I thought. Mr. Dove, please accompany Lord Gold out of my office.”

Gold wanted to protest, squaring his shoulders and also his jaws, but Dove - that traitor - shrugged, and took Gold’s arm, gently nudging him out of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?”, Gold snapped, once the door closed behind them, and Dove raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“I thought it to be the sensible thing to do, getting you out of harms way and all. She looked as if she had a pistol in that reticule.”

“That what?”

“Reticule. That little bag she carried? The one looking suspiciously heavy and clunky?”

Gold had still no idea what Dove was talking about, and he decided to punish him for his treason by not smashing any china in the near future, because he was very well aware what happened to all the debris he produced. “Traitor”, he murmured as he started for the exit, but Dove just rolled his eyes. His way back to his carriage led him past the Colette, and for a moment, he paused and observed the ship, rubbing the heavy ring on his finger and tapping his fingertips against the handle of his cane.

“Dove, have you already seen the Captain of this ship ashore?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Find him. But only watch him from afar. I want to find out what that scum of the sea is up to.”

“Should I not give you a ride home first?”

Now it was Gold’s turn to roll his eyes. “Of course. Bring me home, tuck me in and then do as I said, will you?”

Dove grinned, not saying a word, leaving Gold to stew in his anger as he rode back to his town house in his carriage. He brooded, staring at his cane as if it provided him with the answer to his problem. With Lady Belle as his opponent, things were more complicated than he had anticipated. Now she was not only a means to an end, but also the biggest obstacle in his way, and those two things didn’t really go well together. Up till now, he had assumed that marrying him would compensate her for the intended ruin of her father’s company. Now that it turned out to be her company, things were a lot more personal all of a sudden. But Gold shrugged off that irksome tweak of his conscience. This morning, he had seen himself almost there, almost within reach of finding peace… only to find himself thrown back by miles. But he would stop at nothing to ruin Killian Jones once and for all.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Belle was furious. Having to face Gold and his smug grin after sorting all night through the destruction her father had caused and sleeping no more than two hours didn’t leave her wits at their best. So, for a moment, she panicked, saw her company taken from her, and feared that she had overlooked one crucial detail that would allow him to pry the control over her ships away from her. It needed the short walk to her office for her to calm down her heartbeat and remember that she had, in fact, not overlooked anything. She was prepared. Gold didn’t have anything. She was in control. And his face when he realized that, and realized that he had in actual fact overlooked something, was too sweet. 

Still, after Gratt had left and she was alone in her office, she sank down on her chair with trembling knees and shaking hands and counted her breaths for a long minute. In and out, steady, steady… It didn’t help her in the least, and she kicked her chair back in frustration and started to pace her office. The thought of Lord Gold and his eyes twinkling with amusement and the certainty of success made her stomach clench and bile rise in her throat, and she tried to get rid of the suffocating tightness inside her chest by bestowing every single foul name coming to her mind upon Gold.

“Unbearable, enraging, disgusting bag of dirt. Haughty puddle of shite of a diarrheic cow. Unbelievable, stinky book desecrater… Revolting gambler… how I hate this… this twinkle!” She turned, stomping her foot, coming face to face with the captain of the Colette, standing in the open door to her office with raised eyebrows and mouth forming a perfect O.

“What did I do?”

Belle groaned. “Not you. Some pesky annoyance who thinks he can just take my ships from me.” 

“Shocking.” Killian walked into the room and sat down on her desk. Belle narrowed her eyes.

“Where have you been?”

“Why, on my ship. What do you think?” He smiled, despite knowing that it didn’t get him anywhere with her. It never had.

“Yeah, but I sent Mary to get you off  my ship an eternity ago. By the way, where is Mary?”

He shrugged, and started to pick invisible grains of dust off his leather coat. “Haven’t seen her. She probably got held up by that beau of hers.” 

“That girl’s never where she’s supposed to be.” Belle flopped down on her chair again and put her knees up against the desk, only to set them to the floor again when her corset stabbed her in punishment for the liberties she took. 

“It looks like you had everything under control even without me.”

Belle glared at him, hoping her eyes did convey the acid churning inside her. “ Of course I had everything under control. I don’t need a man to rescue me, thank you very much. Now, what are your plans?”

Killian chuckled. “I guess my shore leave has to wait for a few hours. You look mighty pissed. I offer my services in relieving that pent up frustration, love, but you have to get out of those ridiculous skirts.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Belle hopped to her feet again and rushed to the door, looking for Mary in the large and still empty storehouse. In only a few hours time, it would be filled with all kind of goods from the Colette, and Belle felt the excitement about the visible proof of her success bubble up inside her, leading her to call much louder for Mary than she usually would. Her maid just entered the warehouse, carrying a large bag and fixing her eyes on the floor. Belle turned back to Killian.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“That long?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I trust you’re familiar with a woman’s armor, and you can hardly expect me to keep on my corset.” For a short moment, Gold flashed up before her inner eye, and she wondered why she seemed always to fall back to talking about her underthings with men. For someone so intent on fighting her way out of the female domain of childbirth and embroidery, she was rather limited in her subjects of conversation. “Oh well, it isn’t as if I ever was the epitome of a lady”, she muttered, ignoring the way Killian raised his eyebrows again. 

“I can’t complain”, he said in passing her, and Belle rolled her eyes.

“That’s because you have absolutely no experience with real ladies.”

“I don’t need it. They’re like every other woman, too. Strip them of their clothes and they’re all the same, ladies, mothers, whores.” 

Mary reached the door to the office and joined Belle in glaring at Killian, who seemed immune to their combined wrath. 

“Same goes for men, by the way”, he added, but Belle still closed the door behind him with more force than necessary.

“I don’t like him”, Mary stated, dropping her bag on a chair, and Belle rubbed her forehead. 

“You don’t need to like him. He’s useful, and I need him. Nothing else matters. Now, help me out of those clothes.”

“This isn’t right.” 

Belle had turned her back to her maid so she could start unbuttoning her dress, but at the girl’s complaint, she turned back again, waving her hand in impatience. “You know what isn’t right? That you always disappear to do God knows what when I give you a task, leaving me alone to face presumptuous menfolk thinking they can just treat me like a nuisance because I am a woman. Killian at least gives me something to fight with.” 

When she turned her back to Mary this time, the maid kept silent, helping Belle out of her dress, underskirts and corset and holding out leather breeches, linen shirt and riding boots for Belle. 

“And to top all the unfairness, their clothes are so much more comfortable!” 

“I will get fired if anyone finds out that I’m helping you with this”, Mary muttered as she pulled the breeches up over Belle’s behind. They were a little tight, but she could still move. 

“Who would fire you?”

“Miner. He’s always so grumpy.”

“Then I will fire Miner and get you back.” 

Mary only raised her eyebrows while she folded Belle’s skirts into neat little packages, stacking them on the desk, while Belle buttoned up her shirt. “And what if you get married and your husband doesn’t like me?”

“I won’t get married.”She slipped into the boots and groaned when she pulled them over her calves. 

“Of course you’ll get married. Who’s going to care for you when your father dies?”

“I am. I have my ships and you, what more do I need?” Belle stomped her feet and patted her thighs, moving around to get the clothes to slip to the right places. Mary watched her, shaking her head as if she was unable to hold it back. Belle ignored it. 

Killian was waiting for her in the hall, a rapier in each hand, and Belle was almost hopping in joy because he didn’t go back to fencing with wooden sticks after such a long pause. 

“You look happy”, he observed, extending one blade for her to take, and Belle beamed at him. 

“I missed this. Also, I need more practice, because my hand trembled when I held the blade to Lord Gold’s throat.”

Killian’s smile slipped, and he frowned. “What?”

“My hand trembled.” She stepped back and lifted her rapier, demonstrating her stance like it had been with Gold, lifting the tip of her blade to Killian’s throat. “And it trembled again when I held a letter opener to his throat.”

Killian made a sound as if he’d swallowed a toad, and Belle let the rapier sink. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. What did he do to deserve your wrath?”

“Well, he gambled for my virginity, and my father lost. So I had to throw him out of the house.”

“Naturally.” Killian sidestepped her and crossed blades in turning. “Why was he after your virginity?”

“He pretends he wasn’t. But since he became such a nuisance after that, I reckon that’s a lie.” The steel rang like little bells when they parried and thrust, and Belle was already slightly out of breath. 

“A nuisance?” Killian dodged her attack and slapped her behind with his blade.

“Ouch.”

“Concentrate.”

Belle glowered at him and attacked again, this time locking blades after a few strides. “He’s constantly seeking my company, in more than one way. He bought Midas’ shares this morning.”

Killian missed a step, and his rapier cut across her forearm, leaving a red line behind. 

“Killian!”

“Sorry, love. No wonder you are so angry.”

“He won’t take my ships away. No one will.” 

“How would he even accomplish that?”

Belle blushed and missed a step, avoiding only by a hair’s breadth to get stabbed. “I may have mentioned that he would need to marry me to get his hands on our estate…”

“And now he’s seeking your company, and your hand’s shaking when you keep him on distance with a blade?” He clicked his tongue and met her rapier with so much force that it flew from her hand and clattered to the floor.

“I just need more practice, that’s all.” She tried to sound firm as she bent down to pick up her blade, but she was panting, and unable to meet Killian’s eyes. 

“Would your hand have trembled if it had been Norrington on the other end of your rapier?”

Belle didn’t need to contemplate her answer. The name alone sent cold shivers down her spine, and she attacked Killian so fast and swift that she had him pinned against a column with only three steps. “No. I would have run my blade through his heart without a second of hesitation.” 

“Careful, love, I want to survive this lesson.” Killian clasped her wrist and pushed her hand gently down. “But, see, you know how it’s done. If this Lord Gold doesn’t leave you alone, just be a little more persistent with your weapons.”

“I don’t carry a rapier all the time, and I’m pretty sure I’d be in trouble if I actually killed him.”

“I meant your mind, love. Or any other weapon. God knows you have enough dangerous objects in your arsenal.”

Belle stepped back, sweaty and panting, and rested the tip of her rapier on the ground. “Alright. Let’s stop talking about Gold and my trembling hands and concentrate on my stance.”

Half an hour later, Belle’s clothes were steaming with sweat, but at least Killian didn’t look any better. He had taken off his leather coat and rolled up his sleeves, and he was panting just as much as she did. Their ragged breaths were the only thing disrupting the hollow silence of the hall, and the buzz beyond its walls - of ships and winches and hoists, dockworkers and carts rattling along the streets - was nothing but a faint echo of the bustle that was so ingrained in Belle’s veins. At first the clangor with its cacophonous sounds had been overwhelming, scaring, but when she learned to distinguish its voices, learned to associate sounds with their meaning, it changed into a music that made her happier than any piano performance in the music salons of London’s upper class. Yet, despite feeling as a part of this life, breathing the same air as the workers unloading her ship, she couldn’t let them see her like this, wearing pants and fencing with a man who only tolerated her because she was the only one tolerating him. So, when the wide door of the hall was pulled open and dockworkers started to bring her cargo in, they had to stop her training with the sword, and Belle had to retreat into her office, where she sank down on her chair behind the desk and waited for her breathing to return to normal. 

“You’re really getting good”, Mary observed, and Belle lifted her head and raised her eyebrows.

“That’s almost a compliment.”

“I never said I disapprove of your lessons, my Lady. I disapprove of the man you’re having your lessons with, but those are two different things.”

“True…”

“And he’s a lousy teacher. Look at your arm!” Mary rushed to Belle’s side and started to fuss over the long cut on Belle’s arm. It wasn’t deep, nor did it hurt, but her shirt was stained with blood, and she would have to wear long sleeves for a while. Not that it mattered, since she wasn’t keen on enticing anyone. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she pictured Lord Gold again, with his twinkling eyes and his crooked smile, showing off his sharp teeth, and she shivered. 

“This will leave a scar.” Her maid started dabbing at the cut with a damp cloth, and it started bleeding again.

“So? It wouldn’t be my first battle scar.”

“But this one is unnecessary. And it’s on your arm, that means everyone will see it.”

Belle clasped Mary’s wrist and stilled her hand, forcing the maid to look at her. “Mary. A scratch like that won’t make me more damaged than I already am. No one is going to come near me, and no pretty face and no amount of wealth is going to change that.”

“I think you are mistaken. You are too focused on your ships to notice the suitors following you around, and if you think that no one is going to marry you because of some tiny scandal, then you are very, very wrong.”

Belle snorted and let go of Mary’s hand. “Tell me one.”

“Lord Gold.” 

Belle grunted and rolled her eyes. “All he wants is my shipping company, and he’s not going to get that. I’m not going to marry, not ever, not anyone, end of story.”

Mary smiled, concentrating on the cloth she wrapped around Belle’s arm, and she answered softly, without meeting Belle’s eyes. “You’re as stubborn as a mule. You could form a pact with Lady Abigail, I’m sure she would love to share your company until you’re both old and grey.”

“Yes, but Abby has to marry. Her father is not like mine. And I think it never even crossed her mind to refuse, even though she hates Lord David.”

“What’s there to hate about him?” For a moment, Mary’s eyes were aflame and she stared at Belle as if she dared her to find even one thing not to like about David Charmston.

“What do you even know about him? Now, finish that bandage, I have to work.” 

Mary crinkled her nose, but she  protested  no longer. “Maybe you should rather sleep some more before putting down numbers, my Lady”, was the last thing she said, before settling back in a corner of the room to brood. Belle unclenched her jaws, and told herself one last time not to think of Gold and his infuriating eyes, before she started working. 


	8. Chapter 8

While Dove was looking out for Jones, Gold visited his club and tried to find out more about the scandal pertaining Lady Belle. He expected that he wouldn’t have to dig deep to find out more, but surprisingly, the details of what exactly happened were hazy. A certain Keith Norrington, Marquess of Nottingham, was involved, and - not that surprisingly - gambling. A bitterness rose up in Gold’s throat when he learned that Avon apparently lost his daughter’s virginity once before, to someone who had no intent of marrying Lady Belle either. Gold learned that Norrington, notorious for his gambling, made sports of sullying young ladies fresh from their nurseries, who were too naive to recognize the reek of a true beast. Most peers kept their daughters well away from Norrington, but of course Avon had to shove his child right into the gaping jaws of the wolf. But somehow it didn’t go as anyone expected, since Lady Belle was still circling the dance floors - remarkable in a society as intent on blaming a lady for attracting the eye of a predator. He didn’t find out what did happen, though, which was just as remarkable, since the ton lived on tattle. All he found out was that the debt remained unpaid and Norrington never talked about it.

His inability to find out more had him irritated and in exceptionally bad mood when Dove finally returned at night, right before Gold had to leave for another ball. He hated to mix with the peerage, who still wrinkled their noses at him, and he hated even more that he had to attend to those happenings to play nice with Lady Belle. He’d probably be lucky if she looked at him at all after this morning, but at least she didn’t look at him down her nose (only partly because she was so much smaller than even he was). No, Lady Belle made no attempt at hiding her disdain, and that was at least honest, if nothing else.

“So?”, he asked, brusquely, and Dove tilted his head, looking down at him like he was a misbehaving pottery sculpture. An imp of clay with a bad temper. He didn’t care.

“Jones settled down in a pub for the night, a whore on each arm. I instructed a boy to watch him, but I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“That’s all? What did he do all day?”

Dove hesitated, only the tiniest moment, but it told Gold that he needed time to form his answer. Which meant he probably was going to leave something out. “He spend the afternoon with Lady Belle.”

“What?”

Dove flinched at his tone, and took a step back. Gold closed the distance with one swift step. Of course, it would make sense for her to go over the cargo with the captain of her ship. There was nothing surprising or suspicious about that. But Dove was holding something back, and it was that something that twisted Gold’s insides into fiery knots.

“They spent the early afternoon in that warehouse. Alone, apart from her handmaiden.”

“And do you know what they did?”

Dove fixed his eyes on the tip of his boots and clasped his hands behind his back, slightly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “No. Didn’t get a look.”

Gold watched him for a few moments, sure that somewhere in those few words lay the truth - the one Dove wasn’t telling - but he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know. All of a sudden, the matter of marrying Lady Belle became also a matter of keeping her away from that vile scum of the sea. It took him a moment before he wondered why he even cared (and if he really cared or just used the idea of saving Lady Belle as another pretext to finish his nemesis). It was not as if he would be able to save every single person that ever came in contact with Jones. Or even one. No, he admitted, while he put on his gloves and let Dove place his coat over his shoulders. No, he didn’t want to save anyone. He just wanted to take everything from Jones. And he wanted to make it as slow and painful as possible.

He arrived late to the ball, when the dance floor was already crowded and all the dance cards filled. No one really sought out his company, and so he was free to watch the dancers, or rather, one dancer in particular. Lady Belle was practically glowing, radiant in her dress that had the color of cream - and how that color suited her, complimenting her flushed throat and cheeks and her dark curls, giving her the look of one particularly tasty and sweet treat. Like a strawberry on whipped cream, he thought, and frowned at himself over that ridiculous notion. He wasn’t very fond of strawberries. She wore long gloves of silk, shimmering like the pearls around her throat, and a tightness crept up his spine when he imagined her fingertips on his arm, light as a feather, when he would lead her to a dance… He just had to kill one or two gentlemen first to make room on her dance card.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to kill anyone. When Gold looked for her when it was time for the last dance before dinner - the one after which her dance partner would lead her to the table and converse with her over roast meat and pudding - she was gone. Somehow he’d lost track of her, and she was nowhere to be found amongst the mass of flushed faces and white gowns.

Gold sought his way around the dance floor, looking everywhere for Belle, even behind potted plants. After going up and down the corridors - last time she’d been in a library, so he thought that a good point to start - he returned to the ballroom. Still no trace of her. Some guests were passing through high glass doors outside onto the balcony and into the garden, and he went to look for her there. And this time, he found her, although rather by accident.

The lanterns dotting the garden with golden specks of light didn’t provide enough light for him to see clearly, and he would have passed the pair beneath the rose arch, had he not stumbled and crashed right into them.

“What the hell!” The gentleman that caught Gold’s fall against his will cursed and gave Gold a push, but the lady that was with him prevented him from finding himself on his arse on the ground by grabbing his arm and yanking him towards her.

“Oh, there you are”, Gold murmured when he recognized her perfume, and her grip on his arm tightened. He squinted, all of a sudden insecure if he had really found Lady Belle, since she didn’t let go of his arm, and that was at least… unusual.

“I think you’ve interrupted us for long enough, my Lord”, the other man said, and took a step closer, hulking above both Belle and Gold and giving off something that came close to a growl. It was then that Gold finally recognized him, and instantly knew why Lady Belle was holding on to his arm for dear life.

“I’m sorry, Norrington. I was merely looking for my dancing partner. As it happens, I just found her.” Gold straightened, grabbing his cane below the handle, gesticulating with it and emphasizing each word.

“You’ll have to wait. We’re talking.”

“I’ve been very patient with your father’s debts with me. Don’t stretch my patience, or you’ll find yourself and your whole family in the gutter.” At this threat, Norrington shrank visibly, and stepped back. He cast a last glance at Belle, who still held on to Gold’s arm, and turned without another word. As soon as he was out of sight, Belle’s hand fell away.

“I had everything under control”, she said, but her voice was shaking.

“Of course you had. I just wasn’t in the mood to wait, that’s all.” He took her hand again and placed it once more on his arm. His audacity drew a gasp from her lips, a sound he enjoyed very much, even though he didn’t want to admit it. “Care to dance, my Lady?”

“The dance has already started. We’re too late.” The sound of music from the open doors to the ball room proved her right, and Gold sighed.

“We could dance here?”

“That would be scandalous.” Her tone was dismissive, but she didn’t pull her hand away again. “Also, why are you so intent on having a dance with me?”

“Well, we met this morning under less than ideal circumstances -”

“For you, yes.”

“- and I hoped we could settle our little dispute. My business is never personal, and I’d hate it if I had affronted you.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, and the light of a nearby lantern caught in the pearls around her throat. His eyes followed their sheen to the pendant resting just above her neckline, and he had to force himself to look up again. She narrowed her eyes even more, and his cheekbones felt unnaturally warm. He cleared his throat.

“My business is personal. And no amount of charm is going to make me any more perceptible towards you and your machinations, nor will it give you an opportunity to weasel your way into my company. You’re lucky I didn’t break your nose this morning. You might ask Norrington how that feels.”

“Your manners are quite… rough, aren’t they?” Gold made no attempt to start towards the house. He enjoyed their little quarrel too much, and the intimacy of the night had him tense and tight and thirsting to bend closer, so close that he might get another whiff of her scent, enough to inhale and fill his lungs with it until they were close to bursting.

“And yet you’re still here.”

“I think I stated before that you’re intriguing. And I have to admit, when I saw you on the dance floor earlier, you were beautiful. Enticing like a strawberry on whipped cream.”

“A… what?” There was an edge to her voice that cut through his brainless reverie like a rapier, and now his cheeks were not only warm, but on fire.

“Um…”

“A strawberry?”

“You’re right, strawberries are awful.”

“My Lord!” She yanked her hand away and stomped her foot, and Gold thought - a little like in a haze - that it hadn’t been his brightest idea to compare her to fruit. Fruit he didn’t even like, on top of that.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t break my nose, even though I deserve it.”

“You’re right. I should cut your hide into strips.”

As if he hadn’t already learned his lesson, Gold smiled, and said, “I like your fire.”

“I can’t decide if you’re trying to compliment or insult me.”

“I suppose I can’t decide either… I think I should leave you to yourself, before I say something really unforgivable.” Gold shook his head over his own stupidity - and where did that come from, all of a sudden - and started for the house, after bowing his head curtly, avoiding her eyes. He had taken only a few steps, when she spoke again.

“Lord Gold.”

He paused, but didn’t turn around, too conscious of his bated breath and his prickling skin. “Yes, dear?”

“You asked me to dance.”

“I did…”

“Well, then… let’s dance.”

Now he turned around again, slowly, not sure if she really meant it. “Now? Here?”

“Yes. Now and here. I believe you’d feel more comfortable out here, where no one is going to see you dancing, with your leg and all.”

“Now, that was an insult. Unmistakably.”

“Definitely. But I promise not to step on your toes this time.” She came closer, and placed her hand on his arm once more.

“That would be very much appreciated.”

She stepped so close now that he felt the warmth she was radiating, and somehow he still seemed to hold his breath when he took her other hand to pull her in for their dance, ending up much closer than propriety allowed. The gravel beneath their feet crunched when they swayed to the faint sound of music, and he couldn’t help but lean in the tiniest bit to inhale her scent. “Why did you agree to dance?”, he whispered, and regretted it instantly when she fixed her eyes on his cravat and bereft him of their blue depth.

“I… don’t know. Maybe I’m trying to find out what you’re planning to do with my company?”

“I want to own it, of course.”

“Why?” She pulled a little away, but she didn’t end their dance, and Gold lost himself for a moment, captured by the wet sheen of her lips, slightly parted, and the soft blush on her cheeks. He imagined her to taste better than any strawberry ever could, and scolded himself instantly for the direction his thoughts were taking. She was the means to an end, and he shouldn’t fantasize about kissing her and tasting her lips, _none_ of her lips.

“I’m a businessman first and foremost. I don’t cease to be that just because I now have a title. But I admit that there’s another aspect to the affair. As you yourself constantly remind me, my title still reeks of trade and common affairs. I want to polish it a bit, and what better way than to marry someone with an old name.”

“Like me?”

“Exactly.”

“I thought you had no intention of marrying me.”

“I changed my mind.” He hoped she would meet his eyes, but she turned her face away as she circled him, her steps precise and of the easy grace of someone who had been trained all her life to circle the dance floors.

“Well, I didn’t. I’m not going to marry you.”

“Why not? You didn’t sound opposed to marriage when we first met, if I remember correctly… ‘Unless you take my hand in marriage, you have no claim whatsoever over me’. That sounds like a proposal to me.”

Her cheeks darkened, and finally her eyes met his again. But her gaze was less than friendly, and she spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to marry. Not you, not anyone. And you won’t get my shipping company, try as you might. Have a good night.”

And with that, she pulled away and left him standing, almost running in her haste to get away. Gold watched her, bringing his fingertips in his gloves to his nostrils in hopes of finding a last trace of her scent. There was something just out of his reach, at his fingertips, but he couldn’t quite grasp it, couldn’t even tell if it was a scent or an image or just an idea.

“What a fool you are”, he murmured, but only silence answered him.

 


	9. Chapter 9

All too often, Belle’s thoughts wandered away from the things that mattered and stumbled upon Lord Gold and his insufferable peskiness. Why did it have to be her ships that he was after? As if there weren’t enough ships chugging up and down the Thames. Belle scowled at her reflection in the mirror while Mary tended to her hair, braiding and twisting and curling, until it succumbed to her maid’s skillful hands. It was the truth that she didn’t want to marry. Marrying would mean losing the control over her company and her ships, and she had fought too hard for that to give it up again. And even if she were willing to let go of her ships, a man’s desire to polish his name wasn’t exactly the proposal of her dreams. Not enough to give up her freedom for it.

“I fear I’m too much of a romantic after all”, she sighed, and Mary hummed, lips clamping down on bobby pins and fingers buried in Belle’s curls. Belle watched her maid for a while. Mary was so concentrated on her task that she was lost for the world. Belle could confess a murder, and all she would get would be a hum and an absent-minded nod. It was safe to disclose her deepest secrets now, while Mary didn’t really listen.

“I don’t want to like him, you know. He’s infuriatingly rude, and I will never forgive him for gambling for my body, no matter his true intent - or whatever he says his true intent was - and I never met anyone who made me so angry… but then, there’s something about him that’s just… as if he understands me.”

Mary hummed, and Belle reached for a small box in front of her, carved out of tortoise shell and holding the pearl earrings she’d inherited from her mother. She rubbed her thumb over the rose carvings of the box and wished her mother was there to advise her.

“He’s… mindful. Attentive. When we met on Lady Leopold’s ball and he looked for me, he really scared me for a moment, because he cornered me, and… but then he backed off, as if he’d noticed my fear, and he didn’t want to scare me. I’ve never met someone who was so observant towards actions, not words. I don’t know what to think about it.” She closed her fist around the small box and pressed it to her lips. Mary hummed a mindless melody.

“I would enjoy his company if he weren’t so intent on using me to polish his title and do the Lord knows what with my ships. It’s so hard to find intelligent company, and for all his faults, he’s witty enough that he could be amusing.”

Mary used the last bobby pin to pin a curl in place, but even with her mouth free to talk, she only made noncommittal sounds.

“At least he’s honest about that and doesn’t try to sweet-talk me. Probably because he knows himself how hopeless he is at it. He tried comparing me to a strawberry.”

Mary snorted. “Only a man could think that’s a good idea.”

“So you have been listening.”

“A maid knows when to listen quietly and when to comment, my Lady.”

“Right. And aren’t you a true paragon of a maid.”

Mary blushed and tried to turn away, but Belle turned and clasped her wrist.

“Are you going to be sick again tonight? I’d hate to go to Lady Leopold’s soiree on my own.”

Mary pressed her lips into a thin line. “I can’t be seen at Regi- …at Lady Leopold’s. Not as long as I don’t have proof of what she did.”

“You’re never going to find proof if you don’t go there.”

“A true dilemma.” Mary avoided Belle’s eyes, using her free hand to pluck at some curls, as if Belle’s hair wasn’t already perfect.

“What makes you think there is even any evidence left? If I had killed my husband, I’d take care not to leave any incriminating evidence behind.”

“Yes, but you’re smart, and Regina is sentimental. She’s the one to display a murder weapon in plain sight. And it’s not as if a weapon would prove anything.”

Belle’s chest was heavy, as if crushed under the weight of a vicious giant, and she let go of Mary’s hand. Here she was, moping because she liked her ruthless suitor more than she wanted to admit, while Mary faced real problems. For her, it wasn’t much of an inconvenience to offer Mary cover, letting her play the maid, while Mary Margaret had to cope with the injustice of being searched for her father’s murder, with the real killer walking free, amongst the upper ten thousand, reaping the benefits of her late husbands wealth.

“Maybe I could look for it”, Belle said, straightening.

“We don’t even know what to look for.”

“Well, something sharp and pointy - how hard can it be?”

Mary smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t put yourself in danger.”

“I won’t.”

Belle did her best to keep true to her promise. She spent an appropriate amount of time in the salon listening to the French opera singer that Lady Leopold had invited, and then to the recital of several young ladies presenting their skill (or the lack of it), always avoiding to look to the right, where Lord Gold was standing in the back, directing too little of his attention towards the music and too much towards her. Whenever her eyes were drawn to his figure, their eyes met, and his intense gaze only added to the heaviness of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Her lungs seemed too small to inhale deeply enough, and she wondered why her corset always seemed to shrink when he was around. As long as he was watching her so keenly, it was impossible for her to sneak out of the salon to start her search for possible murder weapons, and the longer his watch continued, the tighter her corset seemed to grow, and the more her stomach filled with the feeling of ants crawling inside her. She had almost given up hope that he would ever look away when she flicked a glance into his direction once more and saw him sauntering towards the buffet in the next room. Before she could change her mind, she rose from her seat, maybe a little too fast, and left the salon, sneaking past the entrance hall and and traipsing up the stairs. Since she’d already been once in the study and remembered the razor-sharp letter opener, Belle thought it her best bet to start there. She had only a vague idea what she was looking for, other than a weapon, and a letter opener didn’t seem too far fetched.

The study was dark, and Belle lit only a single candle, even though she would hardly attract any attention after closing the door. Lady Leopold’s responsibilities as hostess made sure that she was kept downstairs, entertaining her guests, and most of her servants would be tied up in keeping the soiree going. Still, Belle’s heart was pounding hard and her throat was tight, her blood rushing deafeningly in her ears. First, she searched between trinkets and the stationery on the desk for the letter opener, just where she had found it the last time, but it was gone. She went on to try the drawers, but only the first two opened. Belle shuffled through the papers they contained, mostly invitations and bills. The third drawer was stuck, and over her own panting breath when she pulled at it, she noticed the clicking of the opening door too late. It was the sound of someone clearing their throat that made her jump and wheel around.

“Please tell me you’re not trying to rob our hostess.” Lord Gold sounded almost bored, but he didn’t manage to suppress the coldness stinging in his voice.

Belle had to catch her breath and claw at the desk to keep herself upright. The shock over his sudden appearance chilled her to the bone. “I’m not.” She tried to sound leveled, but her voice rattled as if she had to press it past the wheel of a small Thames steamer.

“Well, you can tell that to Lady Leopold”, Gold said, turning, and Belle staggered forward.

“No, wait. Don’t… don’t tell her.”

“Well, you have to give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t tell her that I found you snooping around.”

Belle licked her lips. He would use this ruthlessly to his advantage, there was no doubt about that. If Lady Leopold found out about this, it could very well blow Mary’s cover, and if Mary’s step-mother indeed was a murderer, she probably wouldn’t shy away from doing something terrible to eliminate this danger to her comfortable life. While her thoughts spiraled out of control, it became harder and harder to breathe. In the end, she would have to marry Gold to protect Mary, because he used this incident as leverage, and that would be a very steep price to pay…

“I’m waiting”, he said, quirking his lips like the cat waiting for the mouse to make that final attempt at bolting out of mortal danger. She was naught but a toy in his grip.

Closing her eyes, Belle exhaled and smoothed out her dress. It was no longer in her hands. Why, oh why did it have to be Gold, of all people, to walk in on her? Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and decided that she had nothing to lose. She might as well appeal to his human sympathy. Presuming he possessed any.

“I was searching for a murder weapon to clear my friend’s name.”

“Well… I certainly didn’t expect that…” He looked baffled. Almost sweet. “Alright… what are we looking for?”

“We?”

Gold took a step further into the room. “Well, I can’t have you look for something as dangerous as that on your own.”

“Right. Something sharp, or pointy, that could have been used to stab someone.”

Gold walked to the mantle and started to examine the objects on it. “You’d think that with your prowess in finding sharp objects, you’d found it already.”

“You’d think so, yes.” Belle didn’t pause any longer to question his motives. She’d probably pay for his help later on, but for now, she didn’t have time to waste. She moved from the desk to the book case, carrying the heavy candlestick with her and placing it on the floor before she started pulling out larger tomes to check if they were secret caskets dressing up as books. Most of them were just ordinary books. The last one she wanted to pick up, though, refused to leave it’s place between the other books. Belle tugged at it, and it gave a faint click. With a soft creak, the book case swung forward like a door, revealing a secret space behind it.

“Why, Mary could have mentioned that”, Belle stated. Gold came to her side, staring into the dark pit behind the book case.

“Interesting. Let’s have a look.” He picked up the candlestick and held it high to shine into the secret space. It had roughly the size of a large coffin standing up, with shelves lining the walls. There were boxes and other, more obscure trinkets lining the shelves. Nothing sharp and pointy, as far as Belle could tell after one quick look.

She was just leaning forward to take a closer look, when Gold clasped her arm, just above her elbow and the edge of her glove. She was about to scold him, but he shushed her.

“Listen. Someone’s coming.” He blew out the candle, quickly placing the candlestick on the desk and grasping his cane, pulling her into the secret cabinet before she was able to protest. Belle didn’t hear anything above her own heart pounding in her ears and her own panting breath when Gold pulled her with her back against his chest and reached around her to pull the door to their hiding space shut.

“Don’t, what if we can’t open it again”, Belle hissed, more occupied with the fear of starving to death in a murder cabinet no one knew about than with the fact that she was currently pressed to a very alive and very warm Lord Gold.

“Shhh, it’s not closed completely. We’ll get out again.”

Belle’s answer was cut off before she even started by a clicking of heels and a rustle of stiff silk. The door to the study was shut with a sharp sound, and a thin, golden line of light appeared where the book case door was left a tiny crack open. Belle leant towards the crack, trying to make out the form of whoever was in the study, but all she saw was a dark silhouette, outlined by the gleam of a single candle.

“I am so bored.” It was Regina’s voice, but Belle couldn’t see who she was talking to.

“I know, my Lady. Such are the obligations of a lady.” It was the soft voice of a man answering Regina, but something in that voice made Belle shiver. Gold tightened his grip on her arm. She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck, too hot and too close, and it added to the shivers trickling down her spine. She bit her lip to keep in the tiny sound that wanted to escape her throat.

“Do you think I don’t know that? My life has become so dull. I want color, I want a ball every night, I want the most intricate meals and the sweetest wines.”

“At least your mourning year is up, my Lady.”

“It lasted long enough.” Regina moved, and Belle gave the bookcase door the gentlest of pushes to open the crack a little more and have a better view. She felt Gold shift behind her, leaning over her shoulder so he could look through it, too. The man with the soft voice still remained in the shadows, just outside the candle’s circle of light.

“Come here, my faithful friend”, Regina said, her voice hoarse and throaty and brimming with a strange tone. She leant back against the desk, baring her throat to the man, who stepped close and placed his lips on her pale skin. Even in the light, he was still dark, and Belle finally recognized him. Sidney. Regina’s butler. Kissing his way down the column of Lady Leopold’s throat. And farther down. Belle saw only Regina’s back, but she saw how the lady lifted her skirts when Sidney dropped to his knees in front of her. That was all she could make out before Gold pulled her back, into his arms, and pulled the door shut.

“We shouldn’t watch this”, he whispered, his lips tickling over the shell of Belle’s ear and sending sparks over her skin.

“What are they…”

“They’re pursuing the pleasure of love, dear. It’s not ours to watch.”

Belle twitched under the feeling of his breath ghosting over her skin, and his grip on her upper arm tightened for a moment. A muffled sound came from outside their hideaway. It was too tight and too warm, and she was entirely too close to Lord Gold, closer than any propriety allowed, her back pressed so hard to his chest that she could feel the buttons of his waistcoat even through the endless layers of her own clothing, including her impossibly tight corset.

“How long do we have to hold out here?”, she breathed.

“Depends on Mr. Glass’ prowess.”

“Whatever does that mean?”

“It means that the duration of our stay here depends on how well Mr. Glass uses his tongue and hands and… well, other parts.”

His last words were almost drowned out by a long groan from outside. “She sounds as if it hurts.” Belle was about to push the bookcase open again. Even under the suspicion of having murdered Mary’s father, Regina didn’t deserve to suffer like that. No one deserved to suffer like that. But Gold wrapped his other arm around her waist and held her firmly to his body.

“Believe me, she’s not in pain. Those are sounds of pleasure.”

Belle strained her ears and listened. And indeed, after a while, there was a sound that resembled a laugh, followed by a panting “yes, there!”

“I never knew people did that for pleasure”, she whispered. Her own experience with another person’s touch had been nothing but unpleasant. Sweaty, groping paws that left bruises in their wake, breath reeking of ale on her face, and crude words she hadn’t even known. She had put all her strength in the punch that broke not only Norrington’s nose and got him to let go of her, but also broke her thumb. It was still knotty and thicker than before around the knuckles. It was when she remembered this fight, and the panic she had so often felt afterwards whenever someone came too close (even though Norrington never made it past tearing her dress), that she realized the complete absence of that panic now, confined to a narrow space and pressed to Lord Gold. And with that realization came an odd warmth, surging up from her stomach and moving her to relax even more against his chest.

“Love can be wonderful, and the most pleasurable activity imaginable”, Gold explained, and his lips moved against her skin. His ribcage widened as he inhaled, and Belle became aware that he was breathing in her scent. Her heart gave a stuttering beat, and for a moment, her legs trembled like they did when she stood above the pitching steam engines of a ship and the steel beneath her trembled and shook. She was glad he was there to hold her upright, because her bones were weak, dissolving in this strange warmth. But the place they found themselves in was still tight and uncomfortable, and Belle bumped against the walls and shelves, and every movement created a tiny sound, the whisper of cloth, a thumping of limbs against wood, and Gold’s cane poking her through the layers of her dress. She reached behind her and tried to move the cane away. Her skirts came between her grip and the metal handle, and Gold sucked in a sharp breath.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, with alarm turning his voice to gravel and grit.

“Your cane is jabbing me. Can’t you try to put it somewhere else?”

For a moment, he was silent, and she heard him swallow, heavy as if he tried to choke down a toad. “That’s not my cane”, he rasped at last.

The meaning of that only slowly made it to the surface of Belle’s understanding, and when it did, she knew she should take her hand away from that hard appendage. Should flinch away, really. Instead, she only opened her palm wider to let it glide along that bulge. She roughly knew about the differences in male and female anatomy, but she had never had the opportunity to actually examine that difference closer. When she moved her hand, Gold shifted behind her, trying to turn away from her explorations.

“Please, dear, you don’t know what you’re doing…” There was a certain urgency in his tone, one that Belle found rather fascinating.

“I never knew it is like this”, she whispered, and when her fingertips met a button, she opened it without thinking twice.

“What?” It was almost a squeak that came from Gold, and Belle wondered if it was her touch that did it to him.

“Hard. Is it always like this? How come that it’s usually not that… prominent?”

“Belle, please, this is not the moment… oh, fuck.”

She knew that word, crude as it was, because it was one the workers on the docks used often enough. But Gold muttered it with such heat and exasperation when she wriggled her hand into the opening she had unbuttoned and closed it around the… thing. She wished she weren’t wearing gloves, and she wished she knew how to actually call it. Regina and Sidney were forgotten, and her whole body prickled with the excitement of her discovery. Gold’s hands trembled on her.

“Fascinating”, she murmured. “How does that feel?”

“Let me show you, dear.”

She felt his fingertips on her chin and allowed him to tilt her head towards her shoulder. But when his lips connected with her skin, pressing a soft kiss to her neck, she almost jumped with the sensation that created; a toe-curling shiver rippling over her, turning her skin into something resembling a prickly pear. She gasped, and clapped her hand to her mouth, hoping Regina and Sidney were too occupied to have heard her.

“Shhh, you don’t want to get us discovered.”

Belle shook her head, but she didn’t take her hand from her mouth. Neither did she move her other hand. Gold moved, shifting ever so slightly back and forth against her palm. He dropped his hand down from her chin to the neckline of her dress, only ever tickling her, and her body responded with a brimming just beneath her skin, like a rabbit’s fur as soft as a cloud brushing up inside her. Without her willing to do it, her chest arched up. His other hand came up to join the first, and he found the first, tiny button on the front of her dress. But he didn’t open it, just rested his fingertips against it and waited, scattering tiny kisses along her neck, up to where it met her jaw. Brushed his lips up to her earlobe and hummed. Belle felt it more than she heard it, and it provoked a responding hum inside her.

“If you take your hand away from there, I won’t go any further”, he breathed. In response, Belle closed her hand around him and squeezed, just lightly, just for a tiny moment. His response was overwhelming, as if he lost control for a second, thrusting into her hand and against her backside.

“As you wish, my Lady.” He unbuttoned the first tiny button, and the second, and the third, until he could pull her dress apart at the neckline and reach the shift she wore underneath her corset. He found the ribbon that held it closed and pulled it open, leisurely, as if untying that bow was the sole purpose of his existence then, and needed to be done in reverence and devotion. Something inside Belle started to ache, to long for the moment the ribbon would finally come undone and he would direct his touch to the skin beneath. She held her breath, waiting for that moment, and her head started spinning when it finally came. But instead of going straight for the skin he had uncovered - the vale between her breasts - he went back to her dress, unbuttoning it some more, pulling it open, before hooking his fingertips into her corset and pulling it down. Not far, just an inch or so. Belle clenched and unclenched her hand around him, and met his slow, rolling thrusts against her palm with movements of her own.

“How is it called?”, she whispered, finding the tip that was slightly rounder, like a small head. She circled it with her thumb.

“What?”

“Your… thing.”

He chuckled soundlessly, and kissed her shoulder before he answered. “Member will suffice, I think.”

“Member.” Belle tried the sound of it on her lips, and it almost felt like a kiss. “I imagined something more… grand. Or… vulgar.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” There was something in his tone that made her wonder if he was making fun of her, but his fingers returning to her shift and pulling it wide open distracted her from it. She was grateful for the darkness cloaking them; it prevented him from looking down over her shoulder and being able to see her, because she could feel that he was baring her breasts, pulling layer after layer of clothing away, until he was able to cup her flesh with both hands. If anyone was to open the secret door now, she would be exposed and ruined well and truly. Belle held her breath, listening to the sounds coming from beyond the door. Regina and Sidney were doing exactly the same that Gold and she did inside the secret chamber, and the thought of it sobered Belle’s spirit somewhat. She opened her hand, let go of his _member_ , and Gold instantly stopped his forays beneath the layers of her clothes, stilling his hands atop her breasts, his thumbs brushing against their tips ever so lightly before the contact stopped.

“Are you alright?”, he whispered, his breath hot on her skin, eliciting another wave of that pleasurable warmth that was swirling inside her lower belly.

“I don’t know. This… it’s wrong.” But oh, it felt so good. Suddenly she understood what all her novels meant when they talked about passion, and the fever of the blood.

“It is. It is incredibly wrong. We should stop this right now.”

He didn’t take his hands away, however.

Heart pounding, Belle lifted her fingertips to her mouth, biting down on the tips of her glove, and pulled it off. It was wrong, and she should not give in to this strange want, but since she had nothing to lose anymore - with just one unfortunate incident, Gold had already enough on her to press anything from her, even a marriage - she wanted to seize this moment, this breathtaking feeling… seize it without barriers. When she slid her bare hand around his member once more, he pressed his face to the crook of her neck, as if trying to hold back a sound, trying to suffocate it in her skin.

Gold slid his hands down her stomach and started to pull up her skirts. Her knees shook, and she leant back to rest against his form. He supported her, gave her a sense of security and rightness, and when he burrowed his hands into her skirts and underskirts and found the slit in her pantaloons, meeting the bare skin of her thighs, it wasn’t enough. She thirsted for more. She arched and rolled and rocked helplessly, not sure what this _more_ she needed was, just that she needed it, and the need grew stronger with every inch of her skin that he touched. She bit the back of her free hand to muffle the sounds escaping her, and Gold bit her neck when she rubbed him harder. She didn’t feel the pain. All she felt was his touch, his fingertips finding the soft and aching place between her legs and doing _things_ to her. He rubbed and patted and touched her, and everything became slippery and hot and liquid, until all of a sudden it became too much and her world collapsed on itself, leaving her shaking and trembling and too weak to stand on her own. Gold stiffened, murmured nonsense into her ear, held her with his arms wrapped firmly around her. The heat inside their small hiding place was stifling, smothering, and everything seemed damp, sticky. Slick.

They stood and waited, breathing heavily. Silent.

The sounds on the other side of the bookcase door ebbed away, grew silent, and still they stood and waited. Belle didn’t want to leave this place, didn’t want to leave behind the bond they had created. She didn’t want to return to the harsh reality behind the door.

She had no idea how much time had passed when Gold finally moved, cracking the door open to peek outside. The study was dark, empty.

“Seems like it’s safe to join the party again”, he murmured. Belle almost protested.

“We didn’t find the murder weapon.” She had completely forgotten about it, and her protest sounded exactly like the weak excuse it was.

“We didn’t look particularly hard. If there is a murder weapon at all.”

Gold pushed the door wide open and urged her out into the cool air of the study. The cold made her aware that she was still utterly deranged, and she started fumbling with her clothes, while Gold lit the candle again. He watched in silence as she fought with the ribbons of her shift, and finally stepped to her and reached for the laces to tie them up again.

“It’s impossible to watch you”, he murmured, straightening out her clothes with proficient, skilled movements. Not even Mary was that efficient, and Belle mused that Gold must have assisted quite a lot of ladies with dressing to have such knowledge and confidence. She nearly stumbled when he pulled her corset up again, and she had to bite back angry tears when he didn’t even notice. Of course, the deed was done. He no longer needed to be gentle and beguiling.

“I can do that myself”, she rasped, pushing his hands away from the buttons of her dress. For a moment, he seemed lost, his hands hovering in the air above her chest like birds frozen in midair. Belle turned away to hide how lost she felt. He moved, and when she turned back, properly dressed, he held out her glove for her.

“Let me help you, dear.” He reached for her hand, trailed his fingertips up the inside of her arm instead of helping her, and he paused when he encountered the scabbed cut of Killian’s rapier. “Who did that to you?”

“No one. I cut myself.”

His grip around her wrist grew harder, and his face darkened. “And the person beaten by their spouse says they tumbled down the stairs. Don’t lie to me.”

“It’s not a lie, and it’s none of your business.” She pulled her hand out of his grip and yanked her glove away, too, slipping into it and pulling it up in nervous haste.

“Well. I hope we didn’t miss all the fun downstairs. It would be awkward if we had to explain why we’re still here when the soiree already came to an end.”

His flippant tone only added to Belle’s misery, and she schooled her face into a cool expression to hide it. Maybe, if she didn’t mention the incident in the secret chamber, or the search of Lady Leopold’s study that had given absolutely no result other than getting her caught by the most inauspicious person possible, maybe then he wouldn’t mention it either and they could both pretend nothing had ever happened. Her hopes of being this lucky, however, shattered when Gold started for the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“Give me a short head start, so no one suspects us of inappropriate behavior. And await my call tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Why, to talk about our marriage arrangements, of course. You didn’t think we would go on as if nothing happened, did you?”

“I… no.”

“Splendid. Till tomorrow, then. Unless the soiree is already over, then I come back to sneak out with you.” He opened the door, and the sound of music penetrated the stuffy silence of the study. “Ah. Seems like we’re in extraordinary luck today.” And with that, he left her.

Belle had to admit that she hadn’t thought at all. How would she ever get out of this mess again?


	10. Chapter 10

Gold rubbed his fingertips together in little circles and recalled the feeling of Lady Belle’s silken, slippery heat… He had to shift and cross his legs to hide what that memory did to him, although he was all alone in the room. Waiting. Avon’s butler had led him into the morning salon and abandoned him, rumbling something about “Lady Belle will be with you in a minute”. That had been more than half an hour ago. He brought his fingertips to his lips, in an imitation of what he’d done the night before, when he sucked in her scent sticking to his skin. It was no longer there now, but the memory of it alone made him ache. It seemed no longer a bother to marry her. And the prospect of teaching her exactly how pleasurable love could be, showing her the tight ache, the bittersweet pain of longing and ecstasy… it made him forget the true reason for this alliance. What were some ships compared to her - he shook his head, chasing away the folly that had gotten a hold of him. Growled “Focus!” at himself and brought up the image of his dead son, pale and beaten by the water.

He was sufficiently put out when the door opened - finally, after forty-five minutes of waiting - and Lady Belle joined him, wearing a dark grey dress that covered her up to her earlobes. As if she feared the least bit of skin she showed would make him pounce.

“It’s rude to let your fiance wait for so long, my dear”, he said, lifting a brow and slipping his pocket watch back into his waistcoat when he turned from the window towards her.

“We’re not engaged.” She did her best to sound flat and matter of fact, but a faint blush tinted her cheeks and her eyes were narrowed in disdain. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“Change of heart?”

“Rather the opposite. Tea?” She gestured to a tray with a tea service, sitting there almost as long as he’d been waiting, the tea by now surely bitter and cold. Much like her. At least she wouldn’t be able to scald him with it, should she decide to pour the tea into his lap to teach him a lesson.

“Please.”

His answer seemed to displease her, but she poured him a cup and extended it towards him, and Gold hurried to leave his place at the window and take it from her. She didn’t pour a tea for herself, instead taking a seat on the dainty sofa and smoothing her dress. That left him with only a chair to sit down, and he had to lean his cane against the back of it to balance the teacup and saucer with both hands while he sat down. It was all rather awkward, and Gold wondered if she tried to embarrass him on purpose. Not that it would change anything about his plans.

“So, Lord Gold, I was wondering… Why me? Why my ships?”

“I thought I already told you.”

“You told me you want to polish your name. But I suspect you’d find better candidates for that purpose. My name is tainted.” There was no ruefulness over it in her voice, no chagrin. She seemed to have accepted her fate of being forever spurned because she had had the audacity to rebel against a woman’s fate. The audacity to refuse marrying a man who’d ruined her once.

“And it could be tainted even more if you don’t agree to this marriage.” It could be interpreted as a thinly veiled threat, but in reality, it was just a fact. They had transgressed the limits of propriety, and there was only one logical consequence to that. Still, it only elicited a slight smile from her.

“We both know that that’s an empty threat. No one knows what passed in that room, and if you were to reveal it, you would also have to admit that you were searching Lady Leopold’s study. I guess that doesn’t put you in a good light either, and would taint your name more than the reek of trade still clinging to it.”

Gold was speechless for a moment. He had expected protest, yes. He had not expected to be faced with the same kind of threat he used on her. “That… How much sleep did you get?”

“Enough, apparently. I’m not going to marry you.”

“You won’t get another chance…” How weak he sounded. How helpless. For a second, disdain over his helplessness flared up, self-hatred, leaving a bitter taste on his teeth that he tried to flush down with a gulp of tea. It only added to the bitterness. He’d fought too hard to keep the inquietude in check to allow it to the surface now, when he needed to demonstrate strength.

“Lord Gold, you seem to think that I want to marry. I don’t. Ever. I fought too hard for my independence to give it up over a moment of…” She blushed and licked her lips. Apparently unable to name what had passed between them.

“Passion?”, he suggested.

“Curiosity.”

“Of course.” He looked for a place to put down his cup, but the small table with the tray was too far away. He wanted to leave, desperately, and was pinned in place by a teacup. He would have preferred a rapier to his throat.

“So… you didn’t answer my question. Why my ships?”

Gold considered telling her the truth. There wasn’t a lot he had to lose, other than his dignity, and she had already chipped a large part of that away. On the other hand, the truth would win him nothing. “Your company is one of the most forward thinking companies at the moment. Many are still wary of steam engines and their potential, afraid of the risks going hand in hand with the advantages.”

“You could build your own fleet. You have the necessary capital.”

“And yet it would take me months, if not years, to get where you are. This is solely a matter of convenience.”

“It took me years. I’m not surrendering my position just because you have a fit of envy and not the necessary patience to work for it.” She leaned slightly forward, furrowing her brows and jutting her chin. Stubborn down to the last crease of her grey dress.

“You see, I already did work for it. As you said, I have the necessary capital. You could say I’m swimming in it, and you, and your work, would greatly benefit from a partnership with me.”

“I don’t see any benefit in giving up my say and surrendering my freedom to anyone.”

Gold stared into his teacup and wished it held something stronger than tea. He wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. “Yet you are here, unchaperoned, with me. One could call you reckless.”

She straightened, raised her chin, and he wished she wasn’t quite as covered, wished he was allowed a glimpse of her bare throat. “The door to this room is open, and Mary is just outside. You may try to press me into submitting to your whims as much as you like, Lord Gold, it’s not going to happen. I survived a scandal once, I’ll survive it again, should you decide to use what happened between us as a leverage. But know that I’m going to pick you apart, cut your hide to stripes if I have to. You’ll go down with me.”

Her voice turned hoarse and low over the course of her speech, just as his pants grew tighter. If she was to pick up a blade now and hold it to his throat, he’d be truly lost, reduced to a quivering mess of longing and lust at the point of a rapier. “Bold words”, he growled.

“No. Naught but the truth. Society may allow a man to decide for a woman, decide when it’s fit for her to marry him, or determine that she has no right over her body, no freedom to decide for her own life, but I will not succumb to this dominion.” She rose, smoothing out her skirt and leaning forward, baring her teeth when she spoke again. “I value my ships, and my company, but I value my freedom even more. You didn’t ask me if I would marry you after what happened, you just decided. But it’s not your decision to make. No one decides my fate but me, and I will not take you as my husband.”

Gold swallowed thickly, and extended the teacup towards her. “Please take this.”

Lady Belle looked as if she expected an assault, as if he would grab her and try shaking some sense into her. But she took the teacup, taking care not to touch him by accident. The porcelain rattled for a moment when he let go, betraying her trembling hands. Not so brave after all. Gold took his cane and leant heavily on it when he stood. His limbs seemed heavy, pulling him to the ground, as if gravity doubled its force on him and wanted to crush him with his own weight.

“There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.” She raised her chin once more and clenched her jaws. It drew a smile to his lips. She was so very stubborn. As dead-set on defending her freedom as he was on destroying Jones. When he made his plan, he had not cared if he had to stop at nothing. As long as Jones paid for killing his son, he didn’t care if he had to destroy some random Lady’s life. What was anyone’s suffering compared to his own? Now he faced that lady, and found her fighting him with teeth and claws, so familiar to his own struggles that he couldn’t even blame her for it. He would have to find another way to ruin Jones. A way that didn’t involve ruining his name once and for all by framing him for crimes that would make him an outlaw wherever he went by using Lady Belle’s ships and company.

“I understand. I’m sorry, because I think we’d make a tremendous pair, and we seem to complement each other perfectly in more than one way… but I see now that there’s no hope for me.” He nodded his goodbyes and started for the open door.

“Wait.”

Gold paused while she set the teacup away and closed the gap between them. He forbade himself to hope, even though he was helpless against the flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“Will you keep silent?”

The flutter was huffed out by her question. No, she didn’t want him, and she wouldn’t change her mind. “Worried for your reputation after all?”

“No.”

He almost believed her lie, so sharp was her voice. He reached for her hand, a bold move, indecent even, and allowed his smirk to break free as he lifted it to his lips and breathed a kiss to her knuckles. “Since you claimed to rather live down another scandal than take me as your husband, I see no benefit in betraying your little… bout of curiosity.”

Lady Belle jerked her hand away. “I’m not asking about that! I was asking for your discretion about my friend and her… situation.”

“Ah. Of course. Would it change your mind if it was her life at stake?”

Lady Belle paled, and that was all he needed for an answer. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

Gold narrowed his eyes. There was his leverage. All he needed, wrapped up in a neat little threat. And yet… Maybe her hate was too steep a price to pay. “No. I wouldn’t. As much as I adore it when you hold a blade to my throat, I’m not keen on being murdered in my sleep just because I thought I had to blackmail you into marrying me.”

“And still you think it’s a good idea to remind me of what you _could_ do. Do you think I’ll trust your words, when all you did was demonstrate that you’d use all means to get what you want? I myself am nothing but means to an end for you, and yet you think I would accept your proposal, or trust you! Every single moment, from the moment we met, you’ve done nothing but tried to gain the upper hand and make me a pawn of your schemes. Do you take me for a fool? Why even mention the possibility of betraying my friend if you don’t intend to use it? What could you possibly gain from it?” Lady Belle had talked herself into a fury now, and followed every step he retreated to make space for her rage. He tried focusing on her words instead of the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleamed and her chest heaved with her panting breath, but his eyes were drawn back to the spot where her pulse throbbed at her throat every time she closed the gap again.

“I never said you should trust me. And I think it would be pointless to do so, because you clearly trust no one.”

Lady Belle came to a halt, gaping, blinking, as if she’d been cut off mid sentence. “I don’t know how that happened,” she murmured.

“What are you even talking about?”

“Nothing. I want you to promise that you won’t betray my friend.”

Gold stretched his fingers and pulled his gloves back in place. “I will, if you promise me one thing in turn.”

He took it as progress that she didn’t immediately repeat that she wouldn’t marry him. Instead, she tilted her head and pressed her lips together, giving him time to think about what he wanted in exchange for his discretion. When he proceeded with fiddling with his other glove, though, she seemed unable to bear it any longer. “What?”

“Promise me to come to me if you ever need help.”

“That is all?”

“Well, I could also ask you to call me by my given name, but that would be terribly inappropriate, I believe.”

“You could also ask me again to marry you.”

“After you made it more than clear that it will get me nowhere? Where would be the sense in that?”

“True. But I think calling you by your given name wouldn’t be any more inappropriate than what we’ve already done…”

Gold took in a deep breath, flooded with the memory of how she felt in his arms, how her breath quickened and her skin turned salty under his lips. “Do you think it wise to remind me of that?” he asked, hoarsely. His lips were dry as paper.

“Probably not. I guess I just want to call you by your name because… it means something. But since we were never formally introduced, my Lord, I have no idea what your name might be.”

Gold smiled. She was right, he had forgone any introduction, and of course she had to remind him of that. “Then promise me, and I will tell you my name.”

“I promise to come to you should I ever need help.” She said it solemnly, and Gold hoped that she meant it.

“And I promise you not to betray your friend, my Lady.” He took the hand she extended and shook it.

“And your name?”

“Well, if it means so much to you… You may call me Rutger. But only when we are without company. Just the two of us.” He was still holding her hand, refusing to let go. She blushed, and swallowed.

“In that case, you may call me Belle. When it’s just the two of us.”

“Alright. Have a nice day, Belle.” This time, when he kissed her knuckles, she didn’t pull away.

“Goodbye, Rutger,” she whispered.

Gold let go of her hand and left, but he rubbed his fingertips against the heel of his hand to remember her touch, and for a moment he closed his eyes and savored the sound of his name from her lips.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Belle had been lying to Lord Gold, in a way. She hadn’t slept for a minute after returning home, and that she had all her wits about her was either sheer luck or result of the long hours she used to spend poring over numbers, cargo lists, and contracts. Probably the first, considering the state of panic she’d been in. 

She’d returned home shaking and cold, her thoughts racing in circles, searching for a way out of her predicament… and yes, she’d also been the tiniest bit dizzy from the things Gold had made her feel. She hadn’t known that a man’s touch could make her insides brim and flutter like that. She was unable to help Mary with undressing her, because her hands were trembling and she was fumbling helplessly. 

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t find anything,” Belle had told her friend, but she didn’t elaborate on what exactly had transpired in the hidden closet. 

“You tried, and that’s what counts.” Mary couldn’t hide the sadness, though, and Belle averted her eyes from the reflection in the mirror of her vanity. She could hardly tell her friend that she had forgotten her mission over the seduction of Lord Gold, of all people. She would have to come up with something though; otherwise she could hardly explain why Gold suddenly was convinced they were going to marry.

Mary unclasped the necklace around Belle’s throat and put it away, and Belle tilted her head - like she had done it to allow Gold to kiss her - so Mary could take her earrings out. When she tilted her head the other way for Mary to take out the second one, her friend paused. 

“You lost your earring.”

A wave of cold washed up inside Belle, and she jerked upright, feeling for the missing pearl. It was gone.

“Oh no.”

Mary did her best to appear calm, but even in the dim light of the oil lamp, her face was ashen. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe you lost it at dinner. Or in the carriage…”

“But what if not?” What if she’d lost her earring in the most unlikely of places, namely a hidden closet where she had no business to be, while engaged in a quest to sate her curiosity? And what if Lady Leopold found it and started wondering how it got there? This could set off a myriad of complications, putting the people she loved in danger, as well as Lord Gold, who hadn’t even known what he signed up for when he offered to help her… For that, it was all the more important that she found a way to deter his marriage plans, so she didn’t put him even more at risk. And risk there was, no doubt about it; after all, Lady Leopold had killed her husband. Belle didn’t want to think about what she would do if this secret of hers was threatened to be exposed. 

In the end, getting out of Gold’s grasp was far easier than she had expected, and she was almost offended over how quickly he gave up. Even with almost no sleep to go on, she still loved to spar with words… and regardless of how infuriating he was, she enjoyed sparring with him more than with most people. In fact, when she didn’t meet him even once during the weeks after refusing his proposal, she almost missed him. It had to be because of the intellectual challenge he offered that she kept looking for him at the balls and soirees she attended. Certainly not because she missed  him . Even Abigail noticed her restlessness and started teasing her with it. 

“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you’re waiting for someone, so closely you’re watching the doors.” 

“What does that mean?” Belle forced herself to look away from the double doors of Lady Herman’s ball room and focus on Abigail. 

“It means that you’re certainly not here to enchant Lord Thomas, like all the other unmarried ladies fawning around him, but you’re not here for just the food either.” 

“I don’t see you fawning either. Besides, Lady Herman wouldn’t let me near her son even if I was the last unwed woman in all of England.” 

Abigail chortled and opened her fan to hide her grimace. “Herman’s too poor for my family. She wishes she could get me to give Thomas my attention, but I wouldn’t even touch him with tongs. Besides, I heard he’s already taken, but his mysterious little bird has vanished and all he’s got left is a dance shoe.” 

“How very cinderella of her.” 

“Apparently it works. It’s said if you agree to go with him into the garden, he asks you to try on that shoe. I bet there’s never been a mysterious girl and he’s just obsessed with feet.”

Belle snorted, but the laughter died in her throat when she imagined Lord Gold kneeling at her feet, clasping her ankle and slipping her shoe off her foot. All of a sudden, it was too hot inside the ball room, and her dress clung to her skin as if she’d done every single dance and not just spent all evening chatting with Abigail. 

“So, are you going to tell me who he is?” Abigail interrupted her thoughts, and Belle needed a moment to sort out who her friend was talking about. 

“He’s no one. You know that I’m not looking for marriage. Or love.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re immune to it.” Abigail’s smile was sad, and Belle bit her lip. 

Her friend was mistaken. Just because she liked talking with Gold and still dreamed of his touch didn’t mean she was in love with him. And even if she was, that didn’t mean a thing. It didn’t change the facts. She could die of a broken heart and still refuse to become his wife. The pain of a broken heart dissipated. Subordinating her will to his, giving up her ships, that was forever. “Even if I were in love, it wouldn’t mean I suddenly turned stupid. Marriage is for fools.” 

“Or opportunists, depending on perspective.” 

Belle instantly regretted her harsh words. Not everyone was free to make their own decisions. “Do you know when your engagement is going to be announced?”

“Charmston is stalling. If you ask me, he’s still mourning his affair with that murderous Leopold girl.” 

Belle did her best to appear indifferent, even though her eyes were drawn to the doors again, this time hoping that Mary remained out of sight with the other staff. It was a risky game they were playing, but Mary Margaret insisted on accompanying her to social events. She chatted with other staff members while Belle circled dance floors, hoping to hear something of use against her step-mother. “You wouldn’t believe the things the servants tell about their employers,” Mary Margaret told her whenever Belle suggested she stay out of sight. “Besides, no one knows my face.” She was right, of course. Lord Leopold’s unfortunate demise happened before Mary Margaret’s debut, and the drawing of her face that the Bow Street Runners circulated could just as well depict any other Lady of London’s upper class, including Belle, for all it’s similarity with Mary Margaret. 

“Do you really think she killed her father?” Belle asked, and Abigail shrugged.

“For one reason or another, people are ready to do terrible things. Some even forge their father’s signature to gain control over a shipping company.”

“That’s hardly the same. Besides, he was in the room with me and I merely steadied his hand, so it’s not really forging.”

“Leopold was also in the room with whomever killed him.” There was a twinkle in Abigail’s eyes. Belle swatted her with her fan before she directed her attention backto the double doors. There was still no trace of Gold, and Belle was miserable when she admitted to herself that she missed him. 

She was plagued by a sense of frustration and dashed hopes by the time she started looking for her father, and her mood didn’t improve when she found him tucked away in a small salon, holding a set of cards. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hand was shaking when he reached for his drink. He looked far more deranged than his companions on the table, and certainly less in possession of his wits than Lady Leopold, who watched him with sharp eyes and a greedy smirk tucked to the corner of her lips over her own set of cards. Belle stepped at his side and bent down to murmur into his ear.

“It’s time to leave, Father.”

“You go, darling. I’ll stay for a while…” He didn’t even look at her, and Belle squeezed his shoulder to give her words more weight.

“I don’t want to leave you without a ride, Father.” 

“Please don’t rob us of your father’s company, Lady Belle, it’s simply delightful!” 

Belle met Lady Leopold’s eyes over the table. “I’m sure it is, my Lady, and I’m very sorry to rob you of your entertainment, but I fear if he stays any longer, our new carriage might no longer be ours, and we absolutely cannot afford to buy a new one yet again.” 

The greedy twinkle in Lady Leopold’s eyes went out, and she tossed her cards to the table. “I don’t want to be the one to take someone’s last shirt.”

Her father scowled at Belle. She did her best to ignore him, but just when she wanted to help him up discreetly, he narrowed his eyes and stared at her face. “Where are your mother’s pearl earrings? Did you pawn them for our new carriage?” 

Belle gasped and blushed furiously over his lack of discretion. Suddenly all eyes were on her. “Of course not, Father. I just didn’t wear them today, but that’s hardly a subject for our company…” 

He just ignored her attempt at quelling the subject. “You always wear them.”

“Well, I don’t wear them now. Now please, let’s go.” Belle dropped the gentleness of her tone, and finally, Maurice gave in. Several pairs of eyes followed them out of the salon, almost scorching in their intensity. Belle could hardly breathe. She used to live on the principle that no one decided her fate but herself, but lately it seemed that her fate rebelled against that verdict and decided to show its mean streak every chance it got. Of course it had to be in front of Lady Leopold that her father - who never noticed anything - noticed the absence of her mother’s pearl earrings. On the ride home, Belle’s thoughts raced in never ending circles, chased by the dread that her stupid little bout of curiosity would cost them - Mary Margaret and herself - everything. 

With her father in the carriage with them, Belle couldn’t tell Mary anything of what had happened, and she willed the carriage to move faster over the cobblestone streets, so she could talk in the privacy of her own bedroom to her friend. Mary watched her closely the whole way, and when they finally reached home, Belle couldn’t wish her father a good night fast enough. She almost ran up the stairs, followed closely by her friend.

“What the hell happened?” Mary asked, as soon as the door to Belle’s suite closed behind them. 

“Lady Leopold knows about my earring.”

Mary paled, but unlike Belle she didn’t immediately panic. “Are you sure? Maybe she hasn’t even found your earring…”

“But if she does, she’ll remember that my father noted that I’m wasn’t wearing the pearl earrings that I always wear.”

“Or she didn’t think that important at all and has already forgotten about it.” 

“But what if not? You’re no longer safe here.” Belle’s voice was shaking, and she was out of breath and dizzy. Mary took her elbow and led her to her vanity, where she placed Belle firmly on her stool. Belle didn’t protest when she started opening the buttons of her dress and proceeded loosening the laces of her corset immediately after. Belle wished she would comprehend the urgency of their predicament, instead of wasting time with undressing her like she really was a maid. “Don’t you understand? You have to leave!”

“Oh, shush. Even if she finds your earring in her study, she’ll only know that you were there. Nothing else.”

Belle bit her lip. Mary had no idea that she had been in the secret cabinet. Or what had happened there. “There is a possibility that I lost my earring somewhere far more suspicious than just the study…”

“So? It’s just an earring. And it’s yours. No one will think it has anything to do with me.” 

“Please stop being so goddamn stubborn. This could be a matter of life and death!”

In the mirror, Belle saw how Mary rolled her eyes before she made her stand up again so her dress fell to the floor and gathered around her feet. It was the only sign of distress she displayed, since she usually took meticulous care with all of Belle’s garments and never allowed a dress to crumple like that. 

“And you stop being so overly dramatic. That’s usually my job.” Mary stepped around Belle and unhooked the busk of her corset. She was far less gentle than usually, and shame crept up Belle’s neck. Mary treated her like a willful child, as if all her fears were only the ramblings of a scared little girl, and not valid at all. 

“Aren’t you scared of being found out?” she whispered, and Mary paused, fiddling with the laces of Belle’s shift with more concentration than necessary, as if the thin ribbon that held it closed at the front had somehow offended her. 

“Of course I am. I have nowhere to go from here, and I don’t want you to suffer because of me. But it worked out for so long that I have almost forgotten how it is not to be your maid. Sometimes I forget it’s not even real, and I think you do too. You haven’t slept very well in the last few weeks, and maybe a good night’s sleep will put everything back into perspective. Tomorrow you’ll see that you worried for naught.” 

Belle lifted her arms, allowing Mary to pull the shift over her head, and she slipped wordlessly into the nightgown Mary gave her. Maybe her friend was right. She really hadn’t slept a lot lately. Maybe there really was no reason to worry, and she was just strained. 

The next morning though, when Miner led a visitor to the breakfast salon who introduced himself as Mr. Humbert, Bow Street Runner, Belle learned that it was even worse than she had feared. Her father stopped slurping his poached eggs, and Belle cursed her bad luck. She had no control over what her father would say, and she hated nothing as much as helplessness. 

“What brings you here, Mr. Humbert?” she asked in an attempt to control the conversation from the start. Mr. Humbert, however, concentrated his attention on her father. 

“I’m sorry to intrude this early, my Lord. I’m looking for a murderer.” 

“Which begs the question, again, what brings you here?” 

Again, Humbert ignored Belle’s question. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out before he showed it to her father. Miner, who hadn’t left the room, stepped closer, too, peeking over her father’s shoulder and ignoring her frown.

“That’s a girl. Are you sure you’re looking for a murderer?” Maurice said, while Humbert finally showed the picture to Belle. If it wouldn’t put Mary Margaret in danger, Belle would have pointed out that girls were absolutely capable of murdering someone, and she was in fact very close to proving that point, but she bit it back. 

“Absolutely sure. She killed her father.”

“So you’re looking for a woman who presumably killed her father. But what brings you here?” 

Finally, when faced with the same question three times, Humbert deigned to look at her. “There were some clues leading us here.” 

Before Belle could inquire which clues exactly, her father spoke again. “Is this person dangerous?” 

“Very. Her father was stabbed multiple times, which leads us to believe that she’s very dangerous.”

“She looks a little like Mary,” Miner stated, and Belle decided to fire him should she manage to get rid of Humbert.

“No, I don’t think so,” Belle said, while her father nodded and Humbert asked who Mary was.

“She’s a maid… I can fetch her…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Belle interrupted the butler, but the damage was already done, and finally she had Humbert’s complete attention.

“Wouldn’t you rather be sure you’re not housing a dangerous murderer?” Humbert asked. Belle glared at Miner - who was inching towards the doors - to pin him in place. 

“Have you ever seen this woman in person, Mr. Humbert?”

“I haven’t.”

“Then how would you know if it’s really her?” 

Mr. Humbert raised a brow, and the coldness in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. “As I said, I’m following a strong lead.” 

“I would like to know what that lead is.” 

“You don’t need to trouble yourself with it, my Lady. But since you’re absolutely sure no one fitting the description lives here, I guess my work here is done.” He nodded at her and tipped his head to her father. Belle held her breath as he turned, not yet trusting this easy retreat. Miner followed him out of the salon, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Belle hopped to her feet to follow them. Her father called out her name like a question, but Belle didn’t even bother looking at him. She creaked the door open to peek through and make sure Humbert was really leaving. She heard Miner rumble something in his deep voice, but she couldn’t make out the words, and her heart jumped to her throat when she saw him gesticulating towards the back of the house. Then he even started for the bell that called the servants, while Humbert waited in the hall. Belle glimpsed back over her shoulder at her father. 

“What on earth is going on here?” he muttered. Belle worried her lip. She didn’t have time to explain now, not when her friend was in danger of being found out, but it was one of the rare moments when his gaze was sharp and his mood didn’t allow for excuses.

“Please, I’ll explain in a minute, just let me…” 

“Belle Prudence Avon, sit down and tell me what you did. There was so much guilt on your face when that Mr. Humbert looked at you that even I could see you’re hiding something.” 

Belle hesitated for only a moment, torn between ignoring her father and throwing him a sketchy explanation, but that moment was enough, and everything went wrong from there on.

***

It took repeated, hard pounding against the door before it finally opened, but Belle wasn’t willing to give up. She needed help, and she needed it now, and if she had to drag Gold out of bed herself, so be it. When Dove opened, she pushed past him without waiting for an invitation. 

“I need to see Gold.” 

Dove didn’t close the door at once. Of course, he expected someone to come in after her. An unmarried lady calling on a gentleman risked her reputation, and doing it unchaperoned made her a social pariah. Belle didn’t care any longer. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Dove had a voice like a nightingale, and he spoke in a soft sing-song. If Belle hadn’t been so upset, it might have been soothing to listen to him, but as it was, it just furthered her agitation. 

“I don’t care. He wanted me to come to him if I ever needed help, and now I need more help than ever.”

“Lord Gold hasn’t been himself lately…”

“I’m going to drag him out of bed myself if I have to. I have no time for his precious ego to get over whatever is bothering him.” Belle started for the stairs, but Dove quickly closed the door and cut off her route. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll go talk to him. Just… wait a moment, please?” 

Belle came to a halt, reluctantly, and allowed Dove to point her to a settee. He didn’t even lead her into a salon to wait, and Belle felt more than ever like a beggar when she sat down in the shadow of the stairs. She was too nervous to be calm, and since she couldn’t pace the hall, she clawed at her dress, kneading her skirts like bread dough. Every minute she had to spend waiting was a minute less to save her friend. Mary Margaret could be led before a magistrate right now, and she could be sentenced to death any minute. It seemed an eternity went by before Dove returned out of the dark bowels of the house and led her up the stairs and into a room so stuffed with books and empty bottles perching perilously on stacks of more books that Belle’s eyes didn’t find Gold at first. He was hunched over an empty glass, and hiding behind books towering on his desk, staring at her out of bloodshed eyes like a deranged creature lurking in the depths of a cavern.

“Dear Lord.” For a moment, Belle was lost, wondering what on earth had happened to leave him in such a state. 

“There’s no need to be so formal, my Lady. It’s just the two of us,” Gold drawled, and Belle decided that whatever ailed him, it was well deserved. 

“There’s no need for such abysmal behavior either. I’m here because I need your help.”

“You do? I mean… why would the all-powerful Lady Belle need my help?” He tried drawing himself up to his full - average - height, but he swayed, and gave it up with a hiccup. Belle didn’t dare step closer, because he looked as if he’d been wearing the same clothes for days (and as if those clothes were able to stand without him by now), reeking and stained (with what she didn’t even want to think about). This was not the man she came to know and almost like by now, and with that realization, her last flicker of hope dwindled and died. 

“You’re right. I was mistaken to come her. I’m sorry for intruding.” She turned back to leave, but Gold sprang up, knocking over stacks of books as he hastened to get to the door and block her way. 

“No, no. Don’t leave! I’m sorry, I… haven’t slept in a while, I think…” He scratched his cheek, and Belle noticed that he was in dire need of a shave. She would have been fascinated by his stubble - and she was almost tempted to touch it - but she had no time for silly notions like that. 

“My friend was arrested and she’s very likely going to be convicted for the murder of her father. Are you willing to help me or not?”

“Help you with what?”

“Save her, of course!” Belle was close to crying, and she yelled in her frustration and despair, giving up on manners completely. 

“How would I do that? If she’s already charged and found guilty, there’s not a whole lot I can do, even if I wanted…”

“So I just wasted my time here.” She hoped he would step aside, let her go already so that she could find another way to save Mary Margaret, but Gold was immune to the stare with which she silently wanted to tell him to clear the way. 

“I didn’t say that. There might be a way… Was she already brought before the magistrate?”

“I don’t know!”

“What do you know, then? Woman, I need information, otherwise there’s no use to this…”

“Don’t woman me, my Lord! I came here straight from my home right after Mary Margaret was arrested, and time is of the essence.” She raised her voice with every word she tossed at him, and she clenched her fists and stomped her foot. If only he wasn’t such a stubborn mule of a man. 

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. “Could you please stop yelling, I can’t think with all the ruckus you’re making.”

Belle would have liked nothing more but protest, but instead she clapped her mouth shut, squaring her shoulders, ready to fight. Gold watched her as if he expected her to talk back. When she didn’t, he sighed. 

“Thank you. Now, I will help you, but it will cost you something.” 

Of course. She should have known he would use this against her. It was probably the sole reason he wanted her to come to him for help in the first place - so he could leverage her again. And no matter how much it killed her to admit it, she had no other choice. Nothing was worth it to let her friend die over it, not even her ships. Not even the Colette. And not even her own freedom. “Please, I’ll do anything,” she whispered. The words broke something inside her, brought her close to throwing up with the bitterness of defeat, but she swallowed it all down. “I will marry you and give you all my ships, but please save my friend.”

Gold raised his brows, quirking his lips in that mocking smile she hated so much. “My dear, who said anything about marriage?”

“What?” God, how she hated him. Did he really suggest…

“No, my Lady, don’t look so appalled. All I want from you is that shave you’ve been promising me repeatedly.” He stroked down his throat as if to demonstrate how much he needed it, but Belle still didn’t comprehend.

“A… shave? That’s all? Not my ships? Not me?”

“Well, if you think a shave isn’t enough, I’ll take some kisses on top of it. But I don’t want  _you_ anymore, not like that.” 

Belle tried to hide the sting his words caused her. There shouldn’t  _be_ a sting, not when she didn’t want to marry him in the first place. “Don’t you have a valet for shaving?”

“And don’t you have other friends to aid you with your quest?”

Belle raised her chin. She would ask Killian, if he were still available, but he left harbor on board of the Colette weeks ago. Without him, she was all alone, for she could hardly break Mary Margaret out of prison with Abigail in tow. 

“That’s what I thought,” Gold said, when she didn’t answer. “A shave and five kisses, take it or leave it.” 

“Alright. Deal.” It could be worse, she told herself. She should be grateful that he  _didn’t_ want her ships or her hand in marriage. 

“Wonderful. Then run along.” He stepped out of the way and opened the door of his study, gesticulating her out of it. This time, it was too fast, and Belle refused to leave. 

“Wait… what do you mean, run along?”

“You’ll be going home while I take care of business, of course. What else could I possibly mean?”

“I’m not going to idly sit back while the life of my friend rests in your hands! I want to help!”

Gold groaned, thrusting his head back and rolling his eyes as if he’d never heard a greater inanity. But he gave in. “Alright. Let me gather all the necessary information so I can come up with a plan, and then I’ll pick you up so you can ruin it all. But first I need a bath.” 

This time, when he shooed her out of his study, Belle allowed it. She was just about to ask what kind of plan he was thinking of when he slammed the door into her face, and he didn’t open it again. 


	12. Chapter 12

After it had become clear that Belle - Lady Belle, Gold reminded himself - would never become his wife, he felt oddly lost, as if the sense of purpose his life had had up till then had gone missing, to be replaced with an emptiness he couldn’t quite grasp. It was absurd, for reason told him that the purpose of his scheming and all his machinations was still very much alive and well and sailing the sea, that cruel mistress.

Gold detested the sea, and he detested ships.

In order to find his hate again, and his focus on his goal, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time: he sought out a certain establishment and asked for a lass with steady hands. He’d done it often, after his first wife left him utterly powerless at rapier’s point, telling him she was going to leave and taking their son with her. He would have gladly parted ways with her, but not his son. When the sea spat them out again, after Jones set his ship against the cliffs, Gold was not only driven by the hunger for revenge - or, rather, punishment, for someone had to be punished; he was also driven by the crazed need to recreate the situation, to live through it, hoping for a different outcome this time. He let them hold a knife to his throat while they fucked him, and every time he half wished they would really kill him. But it never released him from his guilt, nor his terror, because despite the fact that he wasn’t holding the knife, he was the one with the power, and no one would ever forget that.

What a strange twist of fate that Belle, of all people, should be the one relieving him. Not knowing what it would do to him, she had put a blade to his heart, and for the first time, Gold found what he’d been seeking for so long: peace. With her rapier, Belle quieted the voices of guilt and despair, quelled that always present whisper telling him he could have done more, he could have held them back, he could have saved them. Belle had stilled and sharpened his mind. Too bad it took him so long to realize it.

When he requested a brunette to hold a blade to his throat, he hoped it would accomplish the same, this time also chasing Belle from his mind, but it didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t working. His flesh remained soft even after long, embarrassing minutes of frantic rubbing and fumbling, his mind racing and unable to get rid of his longing for something else entirely, and he gave up a last, sending the whore away and resolving to cure his ailments with alcohol.

Lots of alcohol. It didn’t really cure him (and he imagined that nothing would; too deep already was his infatuation when he finally noticed it), but at least it made his days somehow more bearable. Until Lady Belle turned up on his doorstep..

She was pale and shaking, and on the verge of tears - and she offered him the end of all his nightmares and sufferings on a silver platter; all he needed was to take her hand in exchange for his help, and not only would she be his, but he would hold all the power he needed to destroy Jones once and for all. And yet, when she said those magical words - “I will marry you and give you all my ships” - Gold knew with piercing clarity that it was not what he wanted. Not anymore. 

After she was gone, Gold sank down behind his desk again, swirling what little was left of his whiskey around in his glass, and sighed. He should stop drinking and work on clearing his head, otherwise he would be of no use to her. On the other hand… what harm would that last gulp do? He downed it and got up again - swaying, and little graceful - and rang for Dove. After instructing the man to gather any information he could find about the case of Lady Belle’s maid - or, rather, Lady Blanchard, as it turned out, the late Lord Leopold’s daughter - he proceeded to take a bath.

He needed it dearly, mostly to clear his head, though when he shed his clothes, he had to admit that they had more than one suspicious stain. When he deemed himself sufficiently clean again and had changed, he returned to the dining room to take some refreshments. Dove already awaited him. That he’d returned so quickly was a bad sign, and the news he brought was even worse.

“Lady Blanchard was brought before a magistrate and committed to Newgate to await her trial.”

“What are the charges?”

Dove hesitated to answer, shuffling his feet. “Petty Treason,” he said at last.

“Wonderful.” Gold rubbed his chin, scratching the scruff on his throat.

“There’s also this letter,” Dove said, presenting him with a creamy envelope.

“Read it to me.”

“But… it’s from Lady Belle.”

“So? Read it.”

Dove still hesitated, the envelope extended on a silver tray. “Don’t you want to read it in private?”

Gold sighed. “I would, but my head’s killing me, and I have no idea where I left my reading glasses…”

“I could fetch them from your study -” 

“Just read the damn letter! It’s not that hard!”

Finally, Dove gave up on his resistance and opened the envelope, clearing his throat. “Please let me know if there is any new information immediately, yours, Belle… - that’s not very formal…”

Gold ripped the letter out of Dove’s grip and scanned the short message himself. “Does she think me her lackey? Do I look like I have nothing else to do?”

Dove kept silent.

“You know that this habit of not answering my questions is rather irritating, right?”

“I believe it’s sometimes better to be silent than to risk new china flung my way.”

“Of course.” Gold waved the letter and scowled, but like everything, it just rolled off Dove’s stoic mien, like rain from a waxed coat. He stared at Belle’s words while he took his quick meal, at her inelegant scribbles, too small on such a large piece of paper, and so unguarded and honest that it was as if she’d granted him a look into her very self, intimate and vulnerable, and for one short, weak moment, he brought the paper to his face and inhaled, hoping to catch a trace of her scent. It was then that Dove intruded once more, clearing his throat, and Gold dropped the letter like something poisonous.

“There’s a problem.” Dove had hardly finished his announcement when he was shoved aside and Lady Belle entered the room. Only she didn’t look like Lady Belle; rather, she looked like a highwayman all in black, complete with leather breeches and ridiculously wide, feathered hat.

“That looks more like the definition of disaster,” Gold growled under his breath, and Lady Belle stopped and frowned.

“You didn’t answer my letter,” she stated.

“You mean the letter that arrived here ten minutes ago? What are you doing here, in that ridiculous getup? I told you that I’ll let you know as soon as I have a plan.” He expected her to stomp her foot and protest, like a stubborn child would, but instead her shoulders sagged, and she no longer managed to uphold her glare. 

“It’s just… I’m so scared for my friend. I can’t bear to wait.”

Gold understood that, better than anyone probably, so he did his best to sound gentle when he spoke. “I sympathize, believe me. There’s nothing worse than the wait, and not knowing, but there’s nothing more we can do right now. Lady Blanchard has been committed to Newgate to await her trial.”

“But… that’s good, right? That there’s going to be a trial?” There was a flicker of hope in her voice, and it killed him to snuff it out.

“Sadly, no. She’s accused of petty treason, and once there’s a trial, it’s as good as certain going to end in her conviction. She’s going to hang.”

Belle faltered and grabbed the back of a chair. “So is that it? That’s your help? You found out she’s awaiting trial in prison and there’s nothing more you can do?”

With a sigh, Gold got to his feet and stepped to her side, clasping her elbow to keep her from flopping to the floor. She certainly looked as if all her strength had left her. She didn’t even fight him when he pulled back the chair she had grabbed and made her sit down. Despite the painful protesting of his knee, he crouched down before her and left her no choice but to meet his eyes.

“That’s not what I said, Lady Belle. It just means that our task is going to be a lot more difficult. One does not just walk into Newgate and walk out with a prisoner hidden away in one’s pocket.”

Belle straightened, clenching her hands into fists. “Then I will storm in and fight for her!”

“And die in the process. No, my Lady, this needs to be thoroughly thought through.” He fought down the urge to clasp her knees, or cover her hands with his, anything to touch her and calm her down, like one would soothe a panicked horse. And his position at her feet brought him so close to her legs, scandalously exposed in her skin-tight breeches.

“But I have to do something to save her. I can’t just sit here and do nothing…”

“Of course. Let’s see.” He used his cane to pull himself up again and stepped to the window. “A testimony to Lady Blanchard’s character could help her case, but if the opposition brings in a witness placing her at the scene of her father’s murder, chances are… slim, at best.”

“What if there’s someone who could testify that she wasn’t at the scene?”

Gold turned back to her. “You’re not a very good liar, Belle.”

She perked up at his use of her name, but she let it slide; after all, it was just the two of them. Still, she was scowling, and at any other time she would have bucked against him, he was sure of it. “I wasn’t talking about me. Mary Margaret had a suitor.”

“Even before her debut? Scandalous. And hardly helpful, unless you can convince said suitor to testify that she spent the night of the murder with him.”

“No. I can’t.”

Gold sighed, and started pacing. His head was pounding, and every thought seemed to leave a bruise behind his eyes, and come to nothing as well.

“We could… do it like Romeo and Juliet. Slip her a drug that lets her appear dead, if that’s the only way she’ll leave Newgate…” Belle suggested.

“And that worked out so well for Romeo and Juliet, didn’t it?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose, and rubbed his chin, scratching the scruff on his throat. He really needed that shave, so he better came up with a plan. “We’ll need help. When she’s convicted, she’ll hang outside Newgate… Maybe that’s our opportunity…”

“You mean _if_ she’s convicted, right?”

“When. We had this discussion five minutes ago.”

Belle buried her face in her palms, and for a moment Gold feared she was crying, because her shoulders were shaking. He had no idea how to comfort her; she always was so strong, always fighting, and seeing her so close to being broken scared him.

“Look, we’ll find a way,” he hurried to say, and she took a deep breath and looked up again. “In fact, I think I’ve got an idea!”

 

***

 

Gold pressed a kerchief to his mouth and nose and used his cane to push the man before him out of the way. He got cussed at for that, but an icy stare kept the man at bay, and the people around them didn’t dare to take it up with him either. The atmosphere was aggressive, spurred by bloodlust, and Gold was glad that he had sent Belle home again, where she would hopefully stay, for once doing as she was told. And if not, he had placed Dove there to keep an eye on her. He pushed his way through the crowd before the gates of Newgate while a woman was led up to the gallows, haggard and pale and very likely beaten into submission. The crowd cheered, some flinging dirt and imprecations at the woman. Gold turned away and made his way to the side of the clearing before the gallows, kept free of people by the guards. They didn’t allow the gawkers too close, so no one could interfere with executions - something that posed a problem for their mission. He glanced up the gallows, just when the noose was placed around the woman’s neck and pulled tight. She didn’t make a sound. When Gold reached his destination, the noise around him surged up, drowning out the sound of the hatch giving way under the woman’s feet. It was all over in only a few minutes, a quick, unsentimental act that didn’t leave much time for anything if they planned to rescue Lady Blanchard from the gallows.

“What a shame,” he said, addressing the lady to his left. She frowned, and regarded his person with iron in her eyes.

“Justice wears an ugly face.”

“And its arms are foul and reeking of sickness. Newgate is a rotten place, and I admire your relentless fight to change its appalling conditions, Mistress Fry.”

She scanned him once more, from his gleaming boots and cane over his immaculate coat up to his perfectly folded neckpiece, only to frown when she reached his unshaven face. “I don’t think I know you, Master…”

“Gold.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of you.” Her tone indicated that she hadn’t heard any favorable gossip about him, which didn’t really come as a surprise. There was hardly any talk that reflected well on him. He sighed.

“My reputation precedes me, I see.”

“It does. Is there a reason you sought me out here?”

Gold examined his gloves and tried to give himself a humble air. Humility didn’t suit him, but if it helped their cause, he would stoop as low as the lowest beggar. “I was told at your house that I’d find you here.”

“Hm.” Mistress Fry’s eyes flitted over his shoulder, drawn to the source of some noise behind him, before she focused on him again. “You didn’t answer my question, Master Gold.”

She didn’t trifle with courtesy, it seemed, and Gold thought that Belle would probably like her a lot. Then he dismissed the thought. He shouldn’t waste his own time with idle musings about what Belle - Lady Belle, he reminded himself - might or might not like. “I want to support your cause. I was thinking of a considerable donation… now that your husband went bankrupt, your work finds itself at a stand, and it would be a pity to see it end, don’t you think?”

Now he had her full attention, and he could see why she had come so far; her cause had her burning with an intensity that rendered everything beside it irrelevant, and for a moment, he saw the same light of purpose in her eyes that shone in Belle’s when she talked about her ships. There was no place for anything else, and Gold wondered how Mistress Fry found the time to raise her ten living children. He could easily see where those allegations that accused her of neglecting her family came from, but he also was reasonable enough to know that the world was full of people capable of taking care of the Fry children, but only very few people with the strength of an Elizabeth Fry, able to take care of the world and make it a better place for those who hadn’t been born lucky.

“And what do you care for the poor women living their miserable life inside this place, Master Gold?”

He considered keeping up the act of the benevolent parvenu, but maybe honesty was a better way to deal with Mistress Fry. It got him farther than anything else with Belle, after all. (Lady Belle, he reminded himself once more, but maybe that, too, was a lost cause.) “To be fair, I only care about one woman behind these bars, and I’m offering my help in exchange for yours, of course. My generosity has a price.”

“I’m not going to smuggle you in for some bit of muslin, my Lord.” She started turning away, disdain plain on her face.

“It’s not like that, Mistress Fry! There are easier ways for that, as I’m sure you know. No, I need your help to help someone who is very dear to me.”

“And how exactly can I be of help?”

Gold smiled, tilting his head. “I’m glad you asked.”

After securing Mistress Fry’s help in communicating with Lady Blanchard, he returned to his carriage. The corner of Newgate Street and Old Bailey was crowded with dangerous people, a mob always on the brink of rioting if they weren’t fed with their favorite brand of entertainment, the public punishment of convicts. It was a gruesome spectacle in its most civil form, and even more so when the rabble added their contribution and flung dung and rotten food at those entering the gallows for their last salute to the world. Sometimes the accused waited weeks or months for their trial and their sentence, sometimes it happened within the span of a few days. He suspected that Lady Blanchard’s trial would take place very soon so as to keep her from forming a solid defense, and to keep the public attention on this case at a minimum.

They had little time to come up with a plan to rescue her and Belle spent most of that at his house, disregarding any notions of seemliness. The communication through Mistress Fry didn't provide much insight beyond revealing that Lady Blanchard’s lawyer (who visited her once and didn’t do anything beyond telling her to pray) was negligently incompetent. Belle begged him to make sure her friend got a better lawyer, but Gold convinced her that it would be of no help and probably only draw attention to their interest in the case.

“And we have to make sure that no one suspects any involvement on our part when we have to free her in a risky ambush,” he explained, for what felt like the hundredth time. Belle kept going back to options they had long discarded.

“What good is this contact of yours anyway, when she can’t even help getting Mary Margaret out?”

“She’ll informs us when Lady Blanchard is brought to Old Bailey for her trial. It’s the unpredictability of trial schedules that makes it so hard to plan an escape.” Gold did his best to sound calm. It was lost on Belle, who paced his library and by now had walked a path into his precious Persian rug. “Now, please come back here and let's practice this again. You're still abysmal at it.”

He beckoned her to his side, and even though she made a sound no lady should ever make and rolled her eyes, she stepped to the desk again, picking up the tools.

“Why do you even know how to pick locks?”

“It's useful. And, as you keep reminding me, I wasn't born a lord.” He concentrated on the padlocks he'd laid out on the desk for her to pick, told himself not to focus on her closeness, or her scent, or the patch of skin on display above the neckline of her dress.

“I know that I keep teasing you about it, but that doesn't imply you've been a criminal before you bought your way into the peerage.”

“I'm indefinitely glad you deem an origin in trade bad enough that there's no need to add crime to the charge.”

“That's not what I meant…”

“In that case, you've lost some of your keen mind, my Lady. Your wits used to be sharper and your insults more to the point.”

“I deem it unfavorable to alienate the only help I have in this. But if you miss my insults so much, I will promise you to bring them back once my friend is saved from her fate.”

“Actually, I'm quite content with your kinder disposition towards me. It makes me dread it less to put my life into your hands when I allow you to shave me.”

“Oh…” For a moment, Belle appeared speechless, and Gold swallowed and forced his eyes away from her slightly parted lips. She inhaled deeply, her ribcage expanding, drawing his eyes to a whole other part of her anatomy. “ _Allow me_?” she said then, but it lacked the proper indignation. Her eyes were fixed on his throat. Gold had to step away from her, or he would forget the purpose of their scheming. But for the life of him, he couldn't bring distance between the two of them.

“You have to admit that you practically begged me to let you shave me.”

“I begged you to let me cut you, that's hardly the same.”

“If you say so. I'm flattered in any case.”

Belle was preparing to shoot back, but he cut her off before she got out a single word by placing his naked hand on hers to guide her back to their task. His palm prickled from the feel of her skin against his, and every nerve tingled. “Now, let's get back to this, shall we? You have to get much faster at it.”

Belle licked her lips, but she didn't protest. As he interrupted her fruitless attempts at picking locks, the looks she gave him grew darker and darker. He showed her again and again how to hold the tools, how to move them, but she still needed much too long.

“For God's sake, will you concentrate? It's not that hard! You'll have to do it much faster and under a lot more pressure when we're going to free your friend, but if you keep failing like this there's no use in even trying!”

“Oh, shut up, Gold, not everyone is a born delinquent!”

“And some people are free of any talent for it altogether.”

“You say that as if it's a bad thing to have no criminal talent!”

“I’m starting to wonder how you got as far as you have with your shipping company if you never shortchange anyone. Do you distract them with your blue eyes and your swaying hips?”

Belle put the tools down and whirled around to face him, and it was probably his luck that just then, Dove entered the room and kept her from lunging at him. It didn't keep her from gracing him with an insult that was new even to him. Both he and Dove gaped at her, until she rolled her eyes and turned to his man. Dove cleared his throat.

“There's word from Mistress Fry. They brought Lady Blanchard to Old Bailey this morning to face trial.”

As he had suspected, the trial was set close in time - so close, in fact, that their plan to rescue Lady Blanchard in case it went unfavorably was still built on shaky ground. It all went so fast that Gold’s stomach was sitting like a tight, black knot below his ribs, and his insides churned with insecurity when they hurried to Old Bailey to watch the trial. There were so many things that could go wrong that he contemplated - just for a moment - drugging Belle and shipping her off to the West Indies just to keep her from any danger. Of course, that would put his own life on the line, for there was no way that she would forgive something like that. She would kill him if he didn’t save her friend. 

The courtroom was filled to bursting, as it was most days. It was the spectacle of judgment itself that attracted the masses, not the special interest of this case in particular. Still, when Lady Blanchard was brought before the judge, a murmur swelled in the audience. It wasn't everyday happenstance that a Lady of the peerage faced trial, much less that she was charged with petty treason, the worst case of murder. As the accusation warranted, the verdict fell quickly and mercilessly, after hearing two witnesses - Lady Leopold, the mourning widow of the murdered Lord, and the butler, Sidney Bouvier. The crowd cheered as Lady Blanchard, pale as snow, was sentenced to be hung, and Belle grabbed his arm, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle the involuntary cry of protest breaking from her lips. She had changed out of her dress and into her highwayman attire once more and was almost invisible all clad in black and tucked into a dark corner close to the exit of the courtroom.

“Keep quiet,” he hissed, “or you will get us in trouble.”

They didn't stay to see Lady Blanchard led out of the courtroom and to the cart inside the courtyard where she would wait with other convicts to be brought back to Newgate. Gold clasped Belle's upper arm and urged her outside. They had to take their positions and prepare their ambush.

The carts transporting prisoners back and forth between Newgate and Old Bailey were crates on wheels, secured with heavy locks and accompanied by a set of four armed guards each, riding two in front and two behind. The time frame they had to create a distraction, ambush the guards, and free Mary Margaret from the cart was as little as the 15 minutes that the procession needed to get from Old Bailey to Newgate, 20 when the street was packed.

Dove was waiting at a crossroads, and they depended on him to create just enough of a delay to go through with their plan. If they failed, they would probably join Lady Blanchard on the gallows.

Gold wanted to assist Belle with mounting her horse, but she didn't wait for him. She was more than capable on her own, her dark scowl told him, as she swung her leg across the saddle, and there was no doubt on that. Wearing her tight leather breeches once more, and a short, black sailor coat, she wasn’t restricted in her movements and far more agile than he himself. It would have benefited him more than her if he'd helped her, giving him a sense of control. He pulled himself up on his mount, tucking his cane under his arm. Belle's horse leapt forward, hooves clapping like thunder on the pavement, before she reined it in and brought it under control. The eyes of her steed showed white, and Gold brought his own horse beside hers.

“Keep calm,” he murmured, reaching over.

“I am calm,” Belle hissed, and her horse shook its head.

“I can see that.” He led his horse out of the courtyard and a short way to the side of the gate, where they would wait for the cart of prisoners to pass them.

Belle was still struggling with her ride, and its nervousness spread over to him and his own horse. She had to be tense as a wound up coil. He didn't say a thing, for anything he could say would only add to her anxiety and put their mission at risk. He'd never been more relieved to see a prison cart in his life than when the coach transporting Lady Blanchard finally rolled past them. They followed, holding back just enough not to attract the guard's attention. When they neared the alley where Dove waited, Gold pulled off his glove and gave the sign for his man to act: two shrill whistles between his fingers.

A commotion started ahead of them when under much clanking and cussing, Dove steered a carriage onto the street and stopped it, effectively cutting off all traffic, including the prison cart. The guards halted beside it, not abandoning their posts. But their eyes were fixed on Dove and the coach in their way.

“Clear the road!” one of the guards shouted.

“Can't. The wheel’s broken.”

A crowd was forming, helpful hands already stretching out to push the carriage out if the way. They had to be quick now.

“Some help?” Dove addressed the guards, feigning incompetence. The leading man gave a short nod, and the three others pushed their horses closer to the carriage blocking their way, giving out kicks and smacks at the surrounding crowd in good measure. Gold led his horse to the back of the cart, shielding Belle from view when she slid down from her ride, handing him the reins, and set the crowbar to the cart door.

They had debated about this part, since Belle lacked the physical strength to easily break open a door, but she was far more agile and quicker than Gold with his bad leg, so he had given in at last. She had to break the lock by levering the door, and the whole plan relied on her skills with the crowbar; the door as well as the cart itself were iron-framed, and Belle groaned when she leant all her weight against the crowbar. Gold held his breath, sure that all was lost already, when the door finally cracked open. 

The next part was the trickiest, and the one for which they had relentlessly practiced: inside the cart, the prisoners were shackled and chained to the metal frame of the coach. Belle had to pick the lock that shackled Mary Margaret to the chain, and quickly, for the carriage blocking the road was already being moved, inch by inch. It was the lock picking part that had given Gold the most worries, for he hadn't had enough time to teach Belle properly, and she still needed much too long. Now, under pressure, with her hands probably shaking like aspen leaves and other prisoners surrounding her, the stakes were considerably higher than in the quiet of his library.

Belle slipped into the cart, and there was some commotion inside. If the other prisoners called for the guards, everything would be lost. A voice rose inside the cart, and Gold pulled the head of his horse up, causing it to whinny in indignation. Some faces turned towards them, and the crowd closed in. There was a muffled cry and a cough inside the cart, then silence.

The carriage with Dove leapt forward, pushed by the guards and other onlookers, and Gold growled Belle's name to spur her on. They had only seconds left now.

“I need just one more moment,” Belle hissed, and there was unmistakable panic in her voice.

“We don't have a moment!”

Just then, the wheel of the carriage before them broke down completely, almost crushing one of the guard’s legs when it tilted dangerously to the side and came crashing down. Another guard punched Dove with the butt of his musket, and Gold's man doubled over. Gold paid no mind.

“Someone lift that carriage off the road already!”

Everything went fast from there on; several people took a hold of the broken wheel and axel of the carriage to lift it up and push it to the side of the street, and the guards mounted their horses again to return to their posts. At the very last moment, Belle slipped out of the cart, dragging a ragged Lady Blanchard along, whose shift, grey from dirt, was wet and soaked with blood. Gold's heart stuttered at the sight, but neither Lady Blanchard nor Belle seemed impaired.

Belle pushed the door of the cart closed to let it appear unbroken, and pulled Lady Blanchard behind her steed to get her out of sight from the guards. Gold checked for anyone who might have watched their maneuver, but most faces surrounding them were turned away. They managed to bring enough distance between themselves and the cart that their being in the street behind it wasn't suspicious. For a moment, long enough for Belle and Mary Margaret to climb her horse, the guards didn't notice a thing, and the cart started slowly moving towards Newgate again. They didn't wait for the guards to notice that their prisoners were no longer all there, spurring their mounts to a forceful gallop, bringing them away. Behind them, voices rose, telling them that their stunt had been detected. The hooves of their horses thundered on the cobblestones, and people around them leapt aside, cursing and screaming, flinging dirt at them. They had to leave the crowded streets, and quickly, to lose any followers in their tow.

They had to round two corners before reaching the closed carriage waiting for them. They left the horses with the man, and while Gold climbed onto the coachman’s seat, Belle and Mary Margaret climbed into the carriage and out of sight. Gold steered the carriage slowly back into the crowded streets as not to provoke any suspicion, but he didn’t breathe freely until they reached the harbor and brought Mary Margaret - now changed out of her shift into a practical dress - on board of the _Delilah_ , one of Belle’s ships heading for Calcutta. Belle was white as chalk and shaking when they walked up the gangway, and Gold placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back. He had to swallow a thick lump clogging his throat when she leant into his touch, if only for the briefest moment.

They had prepared a small cabin for Lady Blanchard, and she should want for nothing, neither on her journey nor later in her new home. Gold had even provided the paperwork giving her a new identity. All that was left was saying goodbye. Gold wanted to give the women their privacy, but before he could leave the cabin, Lady Blanchard reached for his hand and held him back. Her gaze was open and sincere when she met his eyes.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Gold pressed his lips into a thin line. “It's no matter. Anyone would have…”

“No. Not everyone, and you know that. What you did was very brave. You saved my life.”

“I just prevented Belle from doing something stupid, that's all. I would have hated to see her facing the same fate as you.”

Lady Blanchard smiled, and Gold shifted under her scrutiny, uncomfortable and feeling almost naked.

“Of course. I'm well aware that it wasn't my life you were saving. Belle?” With that she turned away, and Gold was dismissed. He climbed up deck and left the ship, after checking in with the captain to emphasize again how very important the lady's safety was, and how very close to his heart her integrity. He waited for Belle inside his carriage. Dove had returned while they had been on board, and he looked only slightly worse for wear.

“There was a bit of a complication,” he explained, his voice as soft as ever. “They wanted to arrest me, but I convinced them that I had nothing to do with the escape of their prisoner. Told them that the lady was a convicted murderer after all, she'd be capable of stabbing her inmate in the cart and taking off. Must have gotten her hands on a weapon.”

“And how much did it take to convince them?” Gold preferred not to ask after the other part of Dove's recount. Suddenly the blood on Mary Margaret's prison shift made sense.

“Five pounds each.”

“Good Lord, you don't have to throw my money away like that!”

Dove raised the thick bulges that usually passed for his eyebrows.

“You get a perfect cover up for 20 pounds, my Lord. When the guards saw that there were no prisoners to bring back to Newgate, they were only too happy to have an excuse not to return to duty at all.”

“Fine. If you say so.”

Gold didn't have to wait long for Belle. Dove helped her into the carriage, for she was still shaking and pale as a corpse. She sunk onto the seat opposite him and hugged herself, and she didn't meet his eyes for several minutes. He almost didn't hear her over the rumble of the carriage on the cobblestones when she finally whispered, “I will never see her again. I lost my friend today, and she couldn't even hug me or look at me…”

“Why? You saved her life today, surely that's not something she would hold against you?”

Belle finally looked up and met his eyes, and the desperation he found in her expression squeezed his heart like a fist.

“No. But I killed someone in front of her… that man was innocent… all he wanted was that I would free him first…” 

“No one is innocent,” Gold rasped. “Certainly not someone in a prison cart.” 

He bent forward and squeezed her knee. Belle looked down at his hand, and when she looked up again, her eyes glistened with tears.

“Maybe. But it doesn't matter, does it? I will never see my friend again, and her last memory of me will forever be stained with blood. She was my friend. And now…” Her voice broke, and in the spur of the moment, Gold clasped her arms and pulled her over to his own seat, holding her tightly to his side. Maybe he didn't understand friendship very well, but he understood loss.

When Belle pressed her face against his shoulder, he caressed the nape of her neck, the back of her head, her hair, and let her cry. She was in shock, no doubt about that. After a long while, he pushed her just far enough away that he could reach into his coat and pull out a flask of brandy. He'd intended it to celebrate the success of their rescue mission, but it served just as well as a remedy against shock and pain. He unscrewed the flask and held it to Belle's lips, and after taking a whiff, she took it from his hand and drank. And drank. She slugged his brandy down like lemonade, giving the pleasant burn of the alcohol no time to unfold, and he almost had to wrestle the flask from her grip. Belle held on to it like a stubborn child, her eyes bright with tears and her lip wobbling, until she finally hiccupped and let go. Gold glimpsed into the flask, trying to estimate how much she had drunk.

“That's my best brandy,” he murmured.

“Well, it tastes like piss. I have no idea what you like about that swill.”

“Don't insult my brandy. It did cost a fortune.”

“I guess I have to try again…” She wrestled the flask out of his grip again and downed another good measure before he managed to take it from her. After stowing it away inside his coat, out of reach of her wandering hands, he pulled her against his side once more, pressing his lips to the crown of her head when she sighed, trembling in his arm. Her sniffles and occasional sobs were muffled by the thick wool of his coat as she pressed her face against him. Eventually, her sobbing ceased, and when they reached his townhouse, she was huddled up against him and fast asleep. She didn't even stir when Dove opened the coach door and cold air swept in, nor when Gold tried to disentangle himself from her grip.

“I think I need some help here, Dove.”

His man picked up Belle's sleeping form, and in the giant’s arms, she looked even tinier than usual.

“Where do you want me to put her, my Lord?”

Gold dismounted from the carriage and considered the situation. “I think a bed would do quite nicely, Dove.”

His man nodded, and Gold followed them inside with a smile on his lips.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Belle awoke with a start, reaching for the headboard of the bed to stop her fall. Her hand met brocade instead of wood and she flinched again, disoriented, and shot upright, the panic roiling up inside her like a tidal wave. She didn't know where she was, or how she got there, and, as a closer examination of herself revealed, why she was almost naked. She was wearing nothing but her shift, her corset and her pantalons. Who bothered themselves with undressing her to put her to bed, but left her in her corset?

Groaning, she swung her legs to the side, and her naked feet met the softness of a thick carpet. A fire was crackling in an enamel woodstove, emitting pleasant warmth, but Belle wrapped herself into the duvet nonetheless, for nowhere in the room were any of her clothes. Not even shoes or slippers were to be found, and Belle half expected the door of the room to be locked. But under her hesitant grip, the knob turned and the door opened. Gathering the duvet around her, she stepped into the hall outside and started her exploration.

She recognized the architecture, at least. She had to be at Gold's house. The thought heated her cheeks and made her brim with anger. How could she ever have trusted him and his word? Of course he would use this mercilessly to his advantage! She didn't believe for a second that he had any other motive for holding her up here in nothing but her underwear than to press her once more into marrying him.

Belle tried to open the next door down the hall. Maybe she would find some clothes somewhere, so she could dress and sneak out. She wouldn't even object to stealing his clothes – he had impeccable taste, after all, and it was only just. The door opened just as easily as that of her room, the hinges well oiled, but as soon as she stepped in, her plan of finding something to dress and disappear ran into an unexpected obstacle: the man himself.

Gold stood there in front of a dressing table, scandalously underdressed himself in nothing but tight breeches and a shirt that, to make matters worse, was wide open and showed a shocking amount of skin on his chest. And he was about to unlace his breeches, God help her. Belle clutched her duvet and wanted to remove herself from this room immediately, but when she took a step backwards, she stepped onto the duvet and nearly let go of it. She grappled desperately for her only protection and stumbled with her back against the door, banging it shut. Gold looked up and met her eyes in the mirror.

“Belle? What are you doing here?”

“That's a question I would like to ask you, my Lord. Why am I here?”

Gold turned around, and Belle quickly looked away, fixing her eyes on the first thing catching her gaze. Which was, unfortunately, the huge four poster bed. “You were drunk and fast asleep. Should I have delivered you on your own doorstep in a state like that?”

“Better than to keep me in your own house in a state like this!” She sneaked out one arm from under her cover and gestured down her front. Gold raised his brow, and there was that quirk at the corner of his mouth again. “Or, keep me at all, for that matter.”

“Why, what's wrong with your state?” He enjoyed this entirely too much.

“Where are my clothes, Gold?”

“What, no longer Rutger? Or ‘my Lord’? I'm deeply hurt, Belle.”

She just raised her eyebrows.

“Oh well. I had your clothes laundered.”

“You laundered my _leather_ _breeches_?”

“Not personally, of course. Would you have preferred them with the blood stains intact?”

“Yes! That is… no…” Belle's bottom lip trembled. She had the memory of what happened in that cart pushed far to the back of her mind, but the mention of her blood stained clothes brought it back. She had killed a man. She stumbled, and Gold rushed to her side, grasping her arm and keeping her upright. “I killed someone,” she whispered.

“You merely saved the headsman another rope. He would have hung anyway.”

“How can you be sure of that? Maybe he would just have done some time in Newgate.”

Gold’s eyes were drilling into hers, but nothing gave his thoughts away. “Actually, no. I inquired after your unfortunate collateral. He would have hung.”

Belle hoped his words would bring her relief, but she waited in vain. Knowing now that the man had been heading for the gallows did not free her from her guilt; after all, she had not known that when she drove her dagger between his ribs. She pressed her eyes shut, trying to push away the memory of the toothless mouth, like a knife wound in the face, red spittle flying from his lips as he cursed her with his dying breath. And she tried to forget the panic punching her to the guts when the man shot up from his seat, chains clanking, and grabbed her arm, black nails digging deep into her flesh, foul breath hitting her face as he hissed at her to cut him loose. She just wanted to push him back. How she drew her dagger in the process, and how the blade found its way between his ribs… she didn't know.

Belle turned to the side, doubling over, and it was Gold's grip on her arms that kept her from falling to her knees. The ripping of fabric echoed through her mind, followed by the sickening sound of her blade sliding through flesh like it was butter.

“Oh god,” she murmured.

“Na, na, it's not that bad, my Lady. Those were the complications that were to be expected.”

Belle straightened and shook his hands off. “Maybe you're callous enough not to feel any guilt over this tragedy, but I am not!”

“Well, then, what are you going to do now? Hand yourself over to justice? Go to the gallows yourself over the death of a murderer? Go on, no one's holding you back. Just be so kind and leave my name out of it.” Gold stepped back and pointed to the door, but Belle stood rooted to the spot.

“He was a murderer?”

“As I said, he was not a good man. Letting him go would have accomplished nothing, if anything it would have put more people in peril. Leaving him without silencing him would have put ourselves and Lady Blanchard's life at stake. You did the only right thing.”

Belle was breathing heavily, feeling dizzier with each deep intake of air. She wanted to believe that Gold was right, that it had been her only choice, but she just couldn't bring herself to such cynicism. She clutched the duvet around her shoulders tighter, as if it would shield her from the truth. It didn't.

“Wait. Does that mean you knew I would have to kill anyone being in that cart with Mary Margaret and sent me in regardless?”

Gold clenched his jaw, lifting his chin. “Would you have gone in if you knew? This was a dirty business, my Lady, and it's just as much on you as it is on me. Accept it.”

“How can you be so cold?”

“It's called pragmatism, my Lady. You should know that better than anyone. I'm surprised to find you so unhinged.”

“I value human life, other than you, apparently.”

Gold's eyes darkened, a storm forming in their depths, and Belle gasped when he closed the distance between them with one swift step, cornering her with the door in her back. Belle was glad that he didn't touch her, for he looked grim, his look promising no mercy.

“You have no idea how much I value human life, my Lady. I lost enough to treasure every moment my loved ones spend alive and breathing more than anything.”

Belle trembled under the intensity of his gaze. “You're right,” she whispered, “I know nothing about you. I'm sorry.”

Gold exhaled, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, looking at her, they were no longer shrouded in darkness. “No, I'm the one who needs to apologize. Apparently the flutter got to me, too.”

“I didn't even know that you have a family.”

“I don't. Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Belle was out of words. Her social conduct left her at the sight of the raw pain that flickered across his face just before he turned away. She was close to tears and shivering with the cold, despite the duvet she was wearing like a cloak. She wriggled her toes, looking down at her naked feet.

“By the way, who undressed me?”

“Huh?” Gold had limped back to his dressing table and pretended to focus on taking off his cuff links. “What do you mean?”

“What I said: who undressed me?”

“You are truly a mistrustful individual. Do you suspect me of ogling your half clad form while peeling you out of your scandalous attire?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts. But rest assured, it wasn't me.”

“That's not very reassuring, to be honest.”

“I respected your privacy, Belle. It was Dottie who took care of undressing you.” He rolled up his sleeves while he spoke, and Belle had to force her eyes away from his naked forearms. So focused was she in not looking at him, that it came as a surprise when he pulled a chair to his dressing table and sat down, pointing at a washstand at his side. “You can start with the towel.”

“I… what?”

“You're here to hold up your end of the bargain, aren't you? I have to admit that this scruff is a rather scratchy business. I'm looking forward to losing it.”

“Now?”

“Now is a time as good as any, so…”

Belle was torn between protesting and running. Instead, she found herself stepping closer. “But I'm not decent…” It was a feeble protest, and Gold grinned, much like a wolf.

“I won't tell anyone, I promise.”

“You planned this!” Of course he had planned this; why else would her clothes be mysteriously missing and everything be ready for his shave the moment she walked into his room?

“How could I have planned that you walk into my room half-naked and rolled into nothing more than a duvet?” He met her eyes through the mirror on his dressing table, and his voice was brimming with glee. He was mocking her.

“I don't know how you planned it, but it worked, didn't it? I'm here in nothing but my stays!” Her voice was increasingly shrill, and Gold chuckled.

“Back to your favorite topic, are we? You're a feathery roll of wrath, that's what you are.”

“Feathery? Do you think me easy?”

“Oh no, I wouldn't dare. No one could think you easy, my Lady. But since you're already here, why not make this whole business enjoyable for both of us?”

“Because that is impossible. Nothing could make this enjoyable for me.”

“You haven't even tasted my kisses yet, so the only thing impossible here is for you to know that. And we both know that you enjoy nothing more than holding a blade to my throat.”

“I don't need to taste anything to know how detestable it is!”

“Does that mean you want to go back on our deal?” Gold narrowed his eyes, and Belle shivered with the sudden cold prickling at the nape of her neck.

“No,” she said, pulling the duvet tighter around herself. “No, of course not.”

“I wouldn't want to press my detestable kisses on you, so if I seem so objectionable to you, just say so. I'm not one to force myself on anyone.” The lighthearted air was gone from his features, and Belle pressed her lips together, swallowing an acid remark. Gold kept looking at her for another moment, but when she kept silent, he grimaced and looked away. “You can say it. I'm not going to bite off your head for it.”

Belle huffed, squaring her shoulders. It would be so easy to just turn and leave and forget her silly promise of a shave and five kisses. But she had killed a man, and something told her that Gold would keep this deed of hers a secret and take it to the grave. A shave and five kisses were a cheap price to pay for all that he'd done for her. With a deep breath, she shook off her duvet and stepped to the chair.

“You can stop sulking, my Lord. It doesn't become your face to look so dark, and you're so much harder to shave when you’re all wrinkled from your sinister frown.”

Gold reached for his face and rubbed his chin. “Sinister, huh?”

Belle smiled silently. Despite no longer having the duvet around her, she was quite warm when she took the last few steps to stand behind Gold's chair. Even the air she inhaled seemed to prickle inside her lungs, and there was a flutter inside her, tickling against her diaphragm, that made her feel almost queasy. She could grow addicted to that feeling, and she tried hard to ignore her humming nerves and instead concentrate on the task before her. She found the towel Gold had indicated beneath a copper cover on his washstand. Steam rose from it when she lifted the cover, and Belle found a heating brick under the damp towel, keeping it hot. She wasn't quite sure what to do with it once she uncovered it, so she just stood there, towel in hand, and thought about ways a hot towel could be needed in a shave. Maybe she was supposed to rub Gold's face with it?

“Have you ever shaved someone before?” Gold asked when she kept hesitating, and she shook her head. He sighed. “This is going to be interesting then. The towel goes on the face for a little while. It makes the hair softer and easier to shave.”

“Oh.” Deciding not to let her insecurity stop her, Belle slapped the damp towel onto Gold's face as he leant back and closed his eyes, and he grunted. But he didn't protest, and although it looked funny, Belle wasn't unhappy to be spared the intensity of his eyes for a while. While his beard soaked under the towel, Belle examined the rest of the tools ready for use on the washstand. There was a leather strap with a hook that could be attached to the brass rail of the washstand, a porcelain bowl with soap, a thick brush, and a straight razor. Belle brought the bowl with the soap to her nose and smelled it. Its scent was stronger on its own, but she still recognized it; her cheekbones heated with the memory of Gold pressed against her in the confinement of Lady Leopold's murder cabinet, his scent flooding her senses. She put the bowl down so hard that she winced, and Gold reached for the towel to pull it down and glance at her.

“What the…” he started, but Belle quickly pulled the towel back over his eyes.

“Nothing, nothing,” she hastened to assure him, and once more he grunted.

“You know, there's no need to soak my eyebrows as well, I'd like to keep some facial hair…” he said, voice muffled through the cloth.

“Don't be ridiculous, your eyebrows will be fine.” Belle took up the razor while she spoke, testing the blade against the pad of her thumb, and hissed when she cut herself. It was only a tiny cut, but it burned, and a drop of blood appeared. She sucked it off her thumb, and the taste of it made her nauseous. She would never be able to shave Gold without killing him. She had to choke back the panic crawling up her windpipe.

She was still fussing over the cut on her thumb when he pulled the towel off his face again. “That's really long enough now. Time for the soap.”

Belle took the towel, leaving a bright red stain on the white cotton as she deposited it on the washstand. She couldn’t look at it. 

“Wet the brush and lather up some soap with it before you lather my face,” Gold instructed, and Belle thoroughly soaked the brush in the washbowl first, before she started whipping up foam. After a while, Gold huffed. “There will be no soap left for my face when you keep doing this.”

“Oh. Of course.” She had to move to his side to reach his face properly, and she was very aware of her indecent state as she did so. She was much too close to him, and he would have an excellent view of her chest, only insufficiently covered by her thin shift beneath the corset. Her clothes seemed too tight all of a sudden, her bosom too prominent and only thinly covered, pressed up by her corset and so close to his face that he would see the frantic beating of her heart beneath her skin, the throbbing of her pulse when she leant forward and reached for his face to lather it with soap. A breathless shriek broke from her lips when Gold reached up and clasped her wrist before she made contact with his skin. He held her hand, so close to his face that his lips almost touched the inside of her wrist, his palm warm and rough against her skin. His breath was tickling her when he murmured, “Don't be afraid, you're not going to kill me. Just try not to tremble quite as much.”

His words, his closeness, the husky tone of his voice, it all made Belle shake even more, and a fleck of soap dripped from the brush down onto his neck, slowly trailing down to where his neck met his collar bone. Belle's throat was as dry as rice paper, and her corset seemed to grow even tighter. Gold rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb, and when he brought it even closer to his lips, she thought he was going to kiss it. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to feel his lips there, warm and tingly, but he paused, closing his eyes and wincing as if he fought an urge so overwhelming that it distorted his face, as if he thirsted just as much to kiss her as she thirsted for it. The kiss never came, and only when he let go of her wrist, Belle realized that she had been holding her breath.

Gold tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and Belle shook off the silly notion that had befallen her, lathering his face with erratic and pointedly indifferent movements. She could pretend it wasn't him as she covered his face with thick foam, but his features were still prominent, and the heat in his eyes burnt through her skin. She would recognize him anywhere from the intensity of his gaze alone. No one else's eyes made her feel so apprehensive and weak inside, as if she could only breathe when she was with him.

Shaking the ridiculous feeling, she put the brush down and reached for the razor. It had the weight of a feather, fitting into her palm as if it belonged there. Inhaling deeply, holding the air in, Belle indicated him to tilt his head with a touch of her fingertips to the sharp arch of his cheekbone. It was hardly a touch at all, yet her fingertips prickled and the feel of his skin jolted through her like the kick of a horse. She had to force herself to breathe as she put the edge of the blade to his face and slid it across his skin, shaving off foam and scruff. As she cleaned the blade in the bowl of water, their eyes met.

"See? I'm still very much alive," he rasped, his voice cracking.

"I'm not done yet. If you want to stay alive, tilt your head back and close your eyes. I cannot guarantee for anything if you keep looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… like you want to eat me!"

Gold chuckled. "But I do."

Heat rose into her cheeks, and she gritted her teeth against the fury roiling in her stomach. She was sure he didn't mean that he literally wanted to eat her, but she failed at deciphering the true meaning of his words, and the feeling of sparring on uneven ground left her off-kilter and insecure. Putting the blade to his skin again, she dragged it across his cheek with more pressure, nicking his skin just below the line of his jaw.

Gold winced and Belle jumped, but he did not snap at her like she expected. Instead, he made a sound deep in his throat, almost a growl, finally closing his eyes and letting his head fall back.

Belle stared at the drop of blood forming on his jaw, frozen in place. Her skull echoed with the ugly, wet sound of her dagger sliding in between two ribs. The memory of blood stained teeth grabbed her by the throat, pressing the air out of her lungs. She focused on Gold, on his face, on his slightly parted lips and the strange hunger lurking just behind the surface. How could he not fear the blade in her hand? He wore a face as if he couldn’t wait for her to slit his throat.

"Don't just stand there like a goose. You have to finish what you started, or I won't be able to attend any parties until that one shaven strip has grown out again."

"You could always shave yourself," Belle huffed, stomping out the fear nipping her heels. He trusted her and somehow this comforted her. She closed the distance again and resumed shaving him. She was more careful now and he seemed to melt like butter under her light touches. Her eyes were fixed on the blade, her focus entirely on the task, so for a moment, she was confused when she finished shaving and found his gaze resting on her chest. Then she remembered her state of undress, and realized that he was feasting his eyes on her décolletage. She'd basically shoved her breasts into his face, and she flushed with white hot embarrassment as she realized that one of her nipples was peaking out of her corset and pressing hard and dark against the thin fabric of her shift. She tossed the razor into the water bowl and hastily pulled the traitorous garment up to cover her again.

"Don't cover up on my account," Gold said with a grin. "I'll take it as compensation for the cut on my throat."

"Oh, I'll cut you some more! You turn everything into a reason to be compensated! I won't even live long enough to pay all the debts you want to force on me!"

"I already said it, I'm not forcing anything on you, dear." His voice had lost its playful tone.

Belle's throat moved, but she didn't get out a single sound. He was right, of course. But that didn't change the fact that he drove her wild.

He watched her in silence as she shifted on her feet and stared intently at the floor. Belle's skin grew too tight and hot, and she flinched as he stood and reached for a towel, wiping his face.

"I feel like a new man. Thank you, Belle."

He had to like speaking her name. He did it relentlessly. Or maybe he didn’t and she just thought so because every time he called her by her name, it had such a weight, like a hefty punch to her guts.

"I only paid my dues."

"Did you?" He took a swift step towards her, bringing him up so close she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He challenged her, teasing her with that subtle smile twitching at the corner of his lips. It shouldn't take her breath away, and yet she was dizzy and unable to move.

"There's still the matter of the kisses I owe you," she whispered. If he bent only a tiny bit closer, he could take her lips now. The scent of his shaving soap enveloped her, clean and fresh, and she longed to melt against him. 

"There is the matter of your kisses, yes. May I have them?"

"Now?" Oh why did she squeak like a mouse?

"If you let me."

"Oh." Her lips parted. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, and she prickled from head to toe. "Yes," she whispered, so breathless the word sounded like a sigh. A smile spread across his face.

Belle thought he would lean close and cover her mouth with his then, or make her kiss him, but instead he clasped her upper arms – his palms hot on her, burning through her shift – and guided her towards the bed. Belle allowed him to lead her, walking backwards, and her knees buckled and she flopped down on the bed with a gasp.

Gold stood between her open knees, his closeness overwhelming, but not intimidating. In fact, she wished him much closer.

Slowly, he knelt down, his eyes holding hers as he put his hands on the bed on either side of her. Belle trembled, arching up and offering her lips for the taking. A taking that never came. Instead, his palms slid along the outside of her thighs – a touch so indecent it made her dizzy – until he reached her knees and pulled them apart even further. And then he bent down.

Belle grabbed his hair and pulled, forcing him to look up. "What are you doing?"

"What I said I would do: I'm going to kiss you."

"This isn't a kiss."

"I never specified where I would kiss you, did I?"

Belle swallowed heavily, breathless at the magnitude of her oversight. "I thought a kiss meant… putting your mouth on mine."

"Oh sweet Belle. There are so many more places to kiss. Like here –" He painted a circle on the inside of her knee with his thumb, a touch so light it sent butterflies crawling across her skin. A tingle spread from his touch, sending a wave of weakness through her leg, and her mouth went dry. "Shall I show you?"

She had to wet her lips, but her voice still broke, cracking like a dry branch going up in flames. How disgustingly weak she was. _Not weakness,_ she told herself. _Curiosity_. "Yes. Please."

The feel of his thumb on her was nothing compared to the rush washing up from her knee as his mouth replaced his finger. Hot, wet, breathtaking. Belle gasped, curling her fingers in his hair as she arched up and every muscle in her body tensed.

"One," Gold murmured. He painted circles on her other knee, smiling up at her. "May I kiss you here as well?"

"Yes." She wanted to feel the rush again, and she couldn't swallow the groan as he moved to her other knee to kiss the inside of it. His mouth left a damp spot on her pantalons, and Belle wished it were on her skin.

"Two." He slid his hands up her thighs, his thumbs drawing a line on their insides, slowly. Belle's heart raced, a breathless crescendo in her chest. He stopped his advance short of her groin. "I long to kiss you here," he growled, his thumb brushing the sensitive inside of her thigh. A thin whine rose in her throat.

"Please," she whispered. _Curiosity is a dangerous thing_. Letting her legs drift apart a little further, she tilted her hips, as if to bring herself closer to his mouth. As his lips met her flesh, scorching heat washed through her, followed by a tension that would snap her in two if he'd stop kissing her. Her groan was as much from protest as it was from pleasure when he pulled back.

"Three."

"Oh, please!" Belle moaned, not sure what she was begging for.

"Another, here?" He brushed his thumb over the spot mirroring the first one on her other thigh, and Belle nodded frantically. She groaned as he kissed her. "Four."

Gold looked up at her, his eyes hooded with desire. Only one kiss left, and with the path his mouth had taken, Belle knew exactly where the last one would fall. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it in as she bit her bottom lip. Her center pulsed, sending waves of longing through her.

Gold's palms slid up to circle her waist. His breath was warm on her belly, full of promise.

"Lie back," he said. It sounded like a plea, so full of yearning. It matched her own longing, and Belle couldn't resist the promise of it. She let herself fall back, presenting herself to him in all her vulnerability. "I yearn to kiss you here, my Belle," he rasped, and his hot breath on her center told her exactly where he meant. His voice alone shattered her with want.

"Yes. Please, Rutger!"

He groaned as she spoke his name, bowing his head and placing his mouth softly upon her throbbing mound. His lips were separated from her flesh through a thin layer of fabric of her pantalons, but they were so hot that they seemed to burn right through it.

Belle rolled her hips, overtaken by the intensity of the sensations his wet mouth imposed on her. It was at the same time too much and not enough, robbing her of coherent thought and leaving her craving for more. More of his mouth, of him, of his touch. Her nails dug like claws into his scalp, desperate to keep him from breaking this sweetest of kisses. It was her luck that he didn't show any intention of moving his lips away.

The kiss went on forever, stoking the wonderful sensations it inflicted with every minute it lasted. The tension mounting between her pelvic bones kept coiling and coiling tighter, until Belle could no longer hold it and it broke in a myriad of blinding lights. Pleasure rolled through her, ripping her control over her body away and throwing her into a chasm of heat, and she couldn't even breathe anymore as her body spasmed and convulsed beneath his mouth.

Gold struggled up from his knees and slipped to her side, pulling her into his arms as she panted raggedly. "Five," he whispered, sounding more than a little pleased with himself. Belle allowed him as much.

"If I had known that those were the kisses you had in mind…" She ran out of breath and trailed off.

"What? You'd denied me my reward?"

"No, I'd given you more than just five."

"Well, you can always do that. I'm glad to kiss you anytime you ask for it."

"Scoundrel!" But Belle couldn't be mad at him. Not when she felt so liquid and drunk with bliss from his expert kisses. She turned her head to look at him. "Tell me, does it feel like this to you as well? When someone kisses your… member?"

"That is certainly no subject I should discuss with a lady such as yourself."

"I'm not a lady anymore. I killed a man."

"I'm tempted to show you the art of kissing a man's prick just to make you forget this unfortunate event." His dark scowl sent a shiver across her skin. She concentrated on his words to shove the images crawling into her mind back into the dark.

"There's an entire art form? Why have I never heard of this?"

"Because men prefer to leave gentle women in the dark, lest they discover the power of their kisses."

"Now I'm intrigued." She lifted her head to glance down at his crotch, but Gold quickly pulled the duvet up to cover his loins. Not quick enough, however, as that she wouldn't have seen the prominent bulge in his pants. His face crinkled into a grimace as she tried to lift the duvet once more. He looked like he was suffering from something rather painful.

"Does it hurt you?" Belle gave up fighting for the duvet, placing her hand on his chest. She could feel the pounding beat of his heart.

"I'm sorely afflicted, yes, but that's not enough to do something unforgivable. I will not teach you to suck a prick."

"Not even if I ask you to?"

"Not as long as we're not married."

"So… never. But you kissed me down there."

"That was part of our deal. I admit that I had a phenomenal case of weakness there, and one of exceptionally bad judgment."

"I make you weak?" Belle had no idea why she was so dizzy all of a sudden, and so buzzing with happiness. It shouldn't matter to her at all how he felt about her. She might have offered herself and her ships in the despair following Mary Margaret's arrest, but she got away lucky. No matter how fuzzy her head became around him, she did better to remember that.

"Why else would I've been so foolish to help you?"

"You got the shave you wanted so much."

"True." Gold chortled, but his face sobered quickly. "You should go, though, before I take more than you granted. Holding you in my arms is a dangerous thing. As you remark so frequently, I'm not a gentleman."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." Strangely enough, it was the truth.

"All very well, but I'm not. I failed to force you into marriage once already, I'm not going to attempt this again and expose you to the risks of such a dalliance." He disentangled from her, sitting up and turning away. Belle told herself to be relieved, but she was just stung. She didn't even want to marry him, for God's sake! There was nothing she wanted less than giving up her ships and her freedom.

Sitting up, she pulled the duvet around herself with as much dignity as she managed. It was hard, considering that her pantalons were wet between her legs and clung to her skin as she struggled to her feet, reminding her mercilessly of his mouth and the pleasure he'd given her.

"I'll send Dottie with some clothes," he said, turning away from her. He didn't look at her again, and he didn't even say goodbye when she left his house, properly dressed in a set of clothes that weren’t hers but fitted her well enough.

She was glad. Her friend was alive and on her way to safety, she was still in control of her company and life, and all her debts with Gold were paid. As she sat in the carriage Gold had provided, she trembled, dizzy with relief. Maybe her knees still trembled a tiny bit from his kisses, and she remembered them with lightheaded giddiness. Gold had gifted her with something truly extraordinary, instead of demanding she'd pay a debt. He could have asked her to kiss him like he’d kissed her, after all; not that she would be disinclined to do so with her new found knowledge informing her about the pleasure of such kisses. But he hadn’t demanded such a thing. He'd left her her freedom.

Deep, aching gratitude tugged at her heart and filled her with warmth.

She was almost euphoric, but it all came crashing down when she reached home and found Mr. Humbert and Lady Leopold waiting for her. Her father was a shaking heap of misery between them.

"Lady Leopold. Mr. Humbert. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Lady Leopold snorted, springing up from her chair and coming towards her like a steam boat rolling up the river, huffing and puffing. "Hardly a pleasure. We're here to arrest you!"

It took all her restraint not to flinch, despite the vortex of blackness forming at the pit of her stomach.

They knew she'd freed Mary Margaret. They knew she'd killed a man.

"Arrest me? What for?"

Mr. Humbert took a step towards her, and her father crumbled even more. "Can you tell us where you've been yesterday? And tonight?"

The blackness threatened to swallow her, but Belle fought it back. "Yes, of course," she said, thoughts racing. She had no time to think this through. "I was with Lord Gold."

Her father's head shot up, gaping, his mouth moving as he tried to form words and failed. The silence was deafening.

" _With_ Lord Gold?" Lady Leopold asked then, a vein throbbing on her forehead. "You spent the night with Lord Gold? _All_ night?"

Belle's face burnt. She knew all the implications of this admission. She was sealing her fate with it, and his as well. "I spent the night with my fiancé. All night."

She hoped he wouldn't hate her for taking his freedom. And if he did, he could console himself with her ships.


End file.
